, July 16, 2024

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  •   1 min read
At the Nagcarlan catacombs
By Marne Kilates

Between two worlds, just after
The cusp of midnight, the shuttering
Stone moves aside as if of its own
Volition: white light spilling from its
Edges, its thunder echoing in the cavern,
Announcing to the slumbering city
My luminescent rising. Chameleon-like,
I absorb all color and shadow and thus
I am invisible. Death hid and healed me
Till the third day, and now I must
Unfold from the nuclear flash, recreate
Myself and all of life, shape and reshape
Everything with my smallest gestures.
The world, reinvented in my utmost
Hope into parables of atonement and
Redemption, will perhaps learn
Forgiveness, and my closest friends
Will not recognize me because I have been
Purified by flames that consumed only
My shroud. On my way home whence
All this light comes, I will walk
Lightly among the unheeding gasps
Of the stunned world, in the vast
Muted festival of marigolds and stones.

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