To Peter on Easter Evening

Crumbling Rock, crushed

by the nausea of self-hatred

and slow corroding of despair,

Love’s betrayal,

the ‘you’ in me, lost;

Oh the night, the night,

the chasm of grief and

the deep well of failure.

Then shafts of light

and you, radiantly renewed,

come to me, I prostrate

with humble joy,

I stricken Rock

healed, lifted up, no reproach

in your gaze.

Love’s restoration.