Awe
her boastful beauty, plaintive
on the arm of night
her lip's breath halting and indulgent.
Turn deliberate away
from gallant sun, giver to us
the presence of bright,
where light touches and moves
silently mocking creation.
Sing praise then, of the Invisible
unlike his ashen movement
her glowing dullness.
Praise of what is felt but ungrasped
whose absence of material
speaks humbly volumes of greatness.
Do not entrust in dipped wisps of white
cluttering above both day and night
nor the one with heat consumes
and while alive sustains life
(unlike death, which is the price of life)
but rather He who raises death
"come forth!"
sweeps its threat aside
and suffered us His suffering more
laid beside night,
awoke with the gallant sun
one times three times one
and saved us from ourselves.
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