Easter Pride
peccadilloes of a place
shapeshifter of a Sydney delight
I keep the mystery alive
don’t know who you are,
stranger in the house;
will it bear down upon me?
my narrative is to stay alive and
be recondite.
my harvest time: she lives for her garden
am I trespassing on your time,
so alive and so dead.
immortal food, In a world asunder
the taming of the shrew in the passages
of an anchorite.
the sacred space of a new shore, alive and
tenderly processed.
alive and newly faced
a wandering soul, of a hundred vanities
and a thousand faces
in a life of enchantment and breaking
ground
and an enchanted mile, so wonderfully made.
God give you peace and grace,
decking the hallows
the trumps of time will tell.