Sparrows and Lilies

There is a gold

butter envies in a sunset

backlighting

a stand of long leaf pines.

Spring begins extending light,

gilding a dozen tree top sparrows

as purple crocus

thumb up from the ground.

Swaying maple buds

tap their hint at resurrection

against stained glass

as we ash our foreheads in

procession,

from the basement, a crashing noise

as the Life of the party

drops burial cloths,

and the faces of lilies

rupture death's dour door.