Easter in the Field

                              I

The staggering cross and grief united us
When Pilate washed his irritated palms; 

Embracing in scarlet garments then, we came 

In the expansion of our tears to this 

Revision of the way: with lofty hands 

To tend the stitch of scars, to go abroad 

In the wet shine of morning under God
With protocol and sword to win these lands.

                              II

Came trotting through the Roman countryside 

A horse with feathers like a cockatoo, 

When horse and rider, both neurotic, threw
Themselves upon the blazing scrub and cried;
For high in evening's undiminished west 

A sensual heart, depending on the earth,
Towards that dark creature and St. Paul came forth;
And when they rode from there, the heart rode first.

                              III

Where they are riding now is ever lost; 

But when the charcoal cross sinks in the year
And fields that wear old leaves and thorny gear 

Are swept like a proscenium of dust, 

In renovations of some glad disguise
Children and dandelions suddenly
Will lease the rooms of summer from the sky
And everywhere the lost unblessed will rise. 

                              IV

Though coming forth were death we would arise,
Since resurrection is our signature; 

Though coming forth, disputing and unsure, 

But starts old wheels and old futilities, 

We ride the season carelessly, still glad 

To dance with blushing Christ and make a rope
Of daisies for his black top-hat and cape,
To preach his legends while we dress our dead.

-- John Malcolm Brinnin