The Rules of Engaging Grief

A walk across the Potomac at dawn wth my son and grandaughter inspired this poem.

“Resurrection Sunday”

Potomac is flat and dark   
This morning - could hardly tell 
The tomb is empty.   

Yes - Resurrection Sunday,  
Though sun is not yet risen  
I can almost hear the chants  

Proclaim this mystery   
From chapels built deep in rock 
Across the river - smell incense,  

Prayers of praise lofted  
High to hasten the light.  
While some slumber tight,  

Enraptured in dream eddies    
Slipper-ed soft in carpet behind  
Stone edifices of wealth.  

Save me for the brisk breeze  
That sweeps across the water and  
Awakens to this rising sun.