Black on Black
I kneel, old knees reverence the day—
sunlit, crisped Spring air yet with a bite
soil unlike that on my sole
yet soul-worthy and oiled
on the altar, a ready reminder
dust tamed to penitence waits for me.
No need to flip pages, words branded
to bones scroll like urgent news type
across a marquee of closed eyes.
Create in me a clean heart, oh Lord
restore a right spirit within me.
Blackened speckles drift down from the mark
I dare not disturb. They disturb me.
In my naked awareness I wear this dirt—
moldered filthiness. I fight the urge
to swipe clean the ashes
