a stone at dawn
cold water in the basin
these walls’ rough plaster
imageless
after the hammering
of so much insistence
on the need for naming
after the travesties
that passed as faces,
grace: the unction
of sheer nonexistence
upwelling in this
hyacinthine freshet
of the unnamed
the faceless
Moves Like Amy:
Is about remembrance of what is now gone, her mind the “unction”, her body the “grace”… like Christ to rise up Now and bridge what is to come.
Is about remembrance of what is now gone, her mind is the “unction”, her body is the “grace” to rise “Like Christ” and bridge what is to come.
It is the quintessential detective poem, after the death. For it seeks no one, but heightened senses to elevate what has been done–the purest smells, the
the loveliest of images–all is calm again, all is bright.
Today, Easter Morning, is one good moment to savor this piece. It celebrates the mystery, the wonder, the questions, the amazement of what has gone before, and the possibilities, the potential of what might come, of what we might become.