“Ash Wednesday”
The love that moves the sun and other stars Now moves me to my end and to my death. It moves my lungs to take their final breath. Fasting, weeping, mourning, sighing are Not able to do me good. Just like Macbeth, My sins are my undoing. There is nothing left, No prayer to save my soul, to remove these scars. But then, the ashes touch my head, and I Am brought to life. I can return with heart Made clean by the joy of the Lord born in a stall, Whose unending love makes sin and darkness die. But I must repent, give myself, every part. For God will have me whole, or not at all.
This poem first appeared in my collection, Liturgical Entanglements