On Holy Saturday: “Better Your Arms Around Me” (a poem)


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Better Your Arms Around Me

You know why I’m standing here.
You know what I’m going to say.
The look behind your eyes betrays you.
Your sleeping head goes away.

Dreams lie as you do;
Dreams lie all night;
like you do.

Pacing back and forth on Friday,
Before you lay these words in my head.
Hoping my closed mouth mined gold
to give you, to give you.

Because I’m here standing
and not falling to my knees,
Pay me the respect of standing
where I can see you – see your face.

Rain soaks through the soil
and drips upon my head.
Hoping all the marble finish
can tell you just what I wanted to have said.

Pacing back and forth on Friday,
speechless now as before —
The smell of cedar fills me now.
Six feet to go . . .

I beg you stand closer.
I want to feel you on my chest.
Better your arms wrap around me
than the roots of the flowers that you lay.

Because dreams betray you.
And dreams fall where you lie.
I always said I’d take it for you (and now I have)
and now you stand where I lay.

Pacing on this Friday morning
waiting for Sunday to come;
waiting to show you vindication–
what it looks like, Who it is:

waiting just for Sunday to come . . .

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