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Staircase

Piercing night   ascending  
descending   sky to ground   our light footfalls
in fluid motion pass through air   make
no sound   No spiral   or criss-cross flights
but one uninterrupted series of stairs
ten thousand climbing angels in glowing white  
ten thousand more   trodding down
down from heaven’s height
from the foot of God’s own throne
right down to a stone   a shaken scoundrel’s

Wrong way round

In a theological tome I read
“opening the world to God”
which echoes in my ear
a quarter tone off pitch,
just enough to make choirs
of angels and archangels wince.

Surely that is backwards.
The whole amazing universe,
every minute or enormous thing,
is a door opening into God,
a summons to eternity
in a dust-to-dust creation,
an invitation to adoration,
the substance of forever.

 

Magdalene’s mistake

“They have taken away my lord . . . and I don’t know
  where they have put him.” —John 20:13

She knew these things: a body doesn’t walk.
Soldiers can’t be trusted. Gossips will talk.

She made her way there in the early dark.
She knew the stories—Noah and the Ark,

Jonah and the whale, David and the stone,
the things a man can accomplish alone.

Even so, she couldn’t quite conceive
how a dead god could just up and leave

The women

           And the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid! I know that you are
           seeking Jesus the crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised just
           as he said. Come and see the place where he lay.”  Matthew 28:5–6