IBID

Unsound rouses the unrepentant mind
And body answers traversing the ground
On bare feet. Is this the path? Is this the
Shard-strewn path to perdition? This down-hill
Slide into the lake below?

The mountains stand aloof or else they drowse
While at their feet the holy lake lies calm
And brimstone black. What sinner dares approach
This silent sacred serene condemned
Of vague profound misdeeds?

What sinner sinning still dares to approach
To stand with naked arms outstretched to play
One crucified against the rose-gray dawn?
The body soars the water breaks and sound
Obliterates unsound.

As through some crystal prism fracturing
The rising sun the sinner glides toward
Eternity breaking into the light.
A swallow nicks the surface of the lake
Or is it a dove descending?