On Good Friday I'm last one out
of the office. Locking up,
I wonder how long the Easter lilies
will survive without water.
Outside, smell of wild onion--
che-ca-gou. Are you, just now,
breathing ocean air
and eucaplytus, thinking of me?
Suddenly I realize I can no longer
live with my wife and love you
the way I want, even when
you're two thousand miles away.
When you call Easter night,
I know what Life-in-Death means,
the pain, but also the blind,
outrageous faith in resurrection.
