Resurrection

On my path, like on any path, there were trees
fallen and floundered from the ice,
the day with its buttons of light was undressed
many times
leaving an unforgiving
storm of scars. So when
the night accelerated its alaraca of shadows
and laziness
and one threw his eye to the wind to
find in the fog a match a lighthouse
a ball of suet, then,
before all blindness
against all darkness
Lord you were
dead resurrected invisible orphan of voice
you were
hugging the skin of fears,
knocking down the gloomy fields of
my hesitations the foolish words
that bleated in my blood.
Risen brother your face is all
faces.
I stretch out my hands in life itself and hope
patient always your own hands
which are also my hands.