Easter Morning
By Amy Clampitt
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
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Am posting late at night the night before (or rather early tomorrow morning) in case I'm running around in the a.m. and can't get online. Have not read much flist so please forgive and warn of any omissions. You whom I was chatting with when I realized I should go be sociable with relatives: sorry if I made you unhappier, but I wanted to see my in-laws before they went to bed and I had no idea what I could say that would make you less unhappy, being befuddled as to why you shut down on me in the first place.
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