Often
resurrection hangs in the air
like some
floating spring blossoms
released by
a wind gust
Resurrection
found in stones
singing with
one another
as the creek
flows around them
Resurrection
in the breath of a child
running from
the bus
toward the
parent’s waiting arms
Resurrection
in the dawn-garden
dripping
down Mary’s face
until he
calls her name
On the road
breaking
bread
frying fish
sharing work
with one another
sharing
stories of healing and grace
Jesus, as we
gather, we hear you say:
“and now you’ll
be telling stories of my coming back
and they won’t
be false,
and they won’t
be true
but they’ll
be real”*
*Mary Oliver
