| Easter morning in New Mexico:
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| The Son is risen on another day
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| Blasting grace on telephone poles;
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| Rows of crosses, rows of trebuchets
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| Cashed in my thirty day chip for a kiss
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| In an air-conditioned bar in Truth or Consequences
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| With a gameshow on, the stakes high enough to risk;
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| It didn’t taste like I remembered it
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| Chasing sundogs to believe;
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| I miss you more than tongues miss pulled teeth
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| I drove four hours north, with one eye closed
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| To El Santuario de Chimayo
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| For a handful of dirt or a final roll;
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| My friend from back home said I should go
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| The tourists packed in but no one talked
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| And by the looks of it, everyone could walk
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| So I swiped a crutch that was leaning against the wall
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| That the Padres have the maintenance guy keep stocked
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| Chasing sundogs to believe;
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| I miss you more than tongues miss pulled teeth
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| Now it’s growing wide around us, this feeling in these bones
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| As we shoot the wind with rifles
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| And then bludgeon it with stones
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| The Lord came in the wind and the dirt--
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| Where he sometimes can be found if you
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| Squint; |
| soften it to silhouettes--
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| His tessellated love is all around |