Splinterglass Ribs

Cinderella’s slippers made of rain, Snow White’s glass coffin.

Splinterglass cage of lungs, snow in my marrow, Christ rises.

I am pools of puddled ice, fractals in a snowy wood of birch.

Peace of winter yawns across the gates of harvest, Christ walks.

Oceans are inside my sternum, chill Atlantic rime, sweet hoar.

In the between steam breaths, I swim to the feast, Christ eats.

Rush of tides in my chest, frozen heart, snowflake cells, frost.

The Sacrament is land laid barren yet fructified, Christ rises.

Thus does fall turn to Hades, and thus do all good stories end.

There is nothing new in this story, my darling, Christ triumphant.

 

Better to forget, better to rest.

 

Best to slumber, Apostle and

forget His

Cross.