These weeks between
the ashes and the lilies demand
hardly any getting used to.
The lurking guilt has ever been there,
tight beneath the skin.
While the half-hearted tries
to rectify, those gentle feints toward
righteousness and also loss of weight
seem same-old, same-old, same-old.
But then you find yourself slammed
right up against a cross,
a jagged crown,
torn flesh and blood,
with cries of dereliction.
And who knows what might rise
from all of that?
