Without warning culverts swell with hope,

Meltwaters surge where ice and snow once reigned absolute.

All vestiges of Winter succumb to its vortex;

What is annihilates what has been,

Washes every trace of despair downstream.

Creeks crucify the cold,

Flotsam crosses carried on rippled muscles

As they re-enact the Passion.

Earth awakes,

Breaking from its tomb once again.

The God Who Built a Man Bridge


The God who built a man-bridge

to span the miles between

where humanity’s design began,

and where Love intervened

sent Man-God down to frozen earth

to be the Son of Grace;

and so, my steps are firm and sure

as I cross in His place.


I don’t even remember who carved what first –

I just know the rawness of slices on skin;

Not realizing that I needn’t accept the curse,

I assimilated the marks until they grew within.

Each signature pooled in surrounding wound

Like rain as it seeks ever the lowest ground;

Each epithet sang with a gruesome tune

As poison-pen arrows their resting-place found.

My eyes grew dim with perennial tears

And cataracts formed to constrict my view;

The graffiti embodied my nightmared fears

As I learned to adopt them as being my due.

But You had already in compassion deep

Carved out Your mark over all the rest;

You saw the beauty the curse made to sleep,

And Cross covered scars that criss-crossed my chest.

Your wounds smothered mine, in sympathy true,

Love conquered lines that had lied to my face;

Now when I look at my scars, I see You

Whose body was scarred as You died in my place.