To the Father, a Short Story
“If Creature only knew that its existence is one latent prayer to the Father....” Hans Urs Von Balthasar
– Tagged "Poetry"
Advent in translation, means a human heart
will burst blood and water, means a body’s
gravity will pull the old moon and redemption
upon freshly carved dogwood as sorrow hangs
from his cheekbones, and a last breath unravels
self-annihilation before atonement. It means
springtime orchards and cattle, red pine
and dying cedarwood can feel their wounds
wrapped and mended. It means
two thousand years later, I will lower head
and eyes to altar bells for a God blueprinted
in my ancestors.
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