Confessional #15

From the entrance of the tomb,
wherein the body lay;
one figure,

countenance regains
an anagram of God’s refrain.

Count the number
of ideologies ingrained
within this scabby flesh;

Permuted time out of sequence,
out of death I find my meter
and my breath,
and catch a glimpse
of angel dust.

As snow
from Heaven
up above.

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