Good Friday, 2002
    Garth Greenwell
    (pace F.B.)

And is there nothing still to be said
for compassion?
                After, when of terror and grief

there remains righteousness, when of a wound,
the desire to wound—

                let us return our cloths
to their shelves, let us allow again the sun

to light our mirrors. Love,

I would forget you in all times save when
you are most difficult, when death

most seems the only recompense for death—

                Remind us of the surest property of vengeance,

that it will turn upon us, as our curses
turn upon us—

May our lives be forced to recognize the extremity
they feed upon.
                May our righteousness return again
to grief, may grief give rise to knowledge,
knowledge to
                refusal. May our lives
refuse the food that has been offered them.

And on the third day, from the darkness in which
it had only itself as food, love rose
and walked among us, and offered us to eat.


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