Somehow it all connects,
dead bodies
nails blood and wood
dry bread dipped in wine
and dirty sandals still untied.
Somehow these are
vital to
poverty, depravity,
drought, confusion,
friendship bread and tea,
the lust of love and war
cities built unbuilt and sunshine.
All echoes to what was,
what could have been, what will be.
It is no easy thing to live this side of entropy
where everything is all potential
and "life will find a way."
Why are we convinced as yet
of hope that will not die,
Resurrection fulgurating from
these tremors in the earth?
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