The body is not a prison
it is a temple
not a cage from which the soul escapes
but a holy place built
for sanctification, redemption
on that Day
bone and ash will rise
from graveyards and cisterns saints
swirling upward like smoke
re-creation of fingers, palm, wrist
glowing gloriously in light
toe by toe, a foot, a leg
dancing as they rise
a people resurrected
lips sealed from life’s last kiss
open to holy, holy, holy
for they did not feel
the sting of death.
written: Spring 2007
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