...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Good Friday

Action and passion are absent
in the present age, as peril is absent

from swimming in shallow water
—Kierkegaard, Swede, who also said

faith’s absurd and requires leaping.
He wrote about Abraham and Isaac,

on the mountain of sacrifice, to make us think.
I guess. It’s Good Friday. On the table

an open book and glass of half-drunk juice,
pencil in the crack of the book’s spine,

closed notebook next to the glass.
Color retreats from the window nearest to me,

the tree’s bark it frames gray already,
street and curb and parked cars just past it,

visible homes, pale green leaves.
I want for nothing. I am sitting waiting

for the next thing to happen. Dinner, probably.
My pain is not like the Lord’s. Along with

the fading outside light, rooms dim.

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