Monday, the First Week of Lent
(This is one of my favorites—because it means more to me now than when I wrote it, almost 35 years ago. And because it means more, it means something entirely different. Ah, but you will find your own meaning.)
Believing
no longer weaves
the sure comfort of memory.
It decreases geometrically
in the paradigm
of inevitability
that is
the cycle of rebirth.
Life’s fabric
becomes tighter
but less protective
as the garment of immortality
steals the show.
Believing sleeps the sleep
of the condemned
waiting to be hung
in the closet of hand-me-downs.
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