GOOD FRIDAY
1
Dew beads the grasstops,
Drawn upwards by the moon.
Still air,
birdsong, too, rising.
My heart,
weightless
Lifts,
Hollow ghost.
2
Beading grasstops
Dew drawn upward –
The brightest moon
The brightest moon
Birdsong rising –
Cloudless sky
Cloudless sky –
My heart, weightless,
Turns like a ghost.
Turns like a ghost,
Moon in the west,
Seeks shelter
In the deep hills
In the deep hills
Night remains.
Rising birdsong
Rising birdsong
A world dividing.
Edges of the sky
Edges of the sky
Weightless heart
Moonlit dawn
Moonlit dawn
Rising and falling
The way of heaven
Way of heaven
Floating heart
Weightless souls
Weightless souls
Rise on birdsong.
The dew has fallen.
3
Taking wing
They rise and melt –
Departing moments.
Departing moments.
My weightless soul
Rolls over
In cool, moonlit dawn
In cool, moonlit dawn
Dreams depart.
The way of heaven.
The way of heaven:
One window, the moon.
One window, the sun,
Heart between,
Remaining.
4
The dead rise weightless.
Some to the sun,
Some to the moon,
Some to the hollow skies.
They rise on floating song,
The birds of dawn.
Turning slowly,
Moment by moment
Forgetting their names,
Into the eternal expanses
Of a patient heaven.
—
simonhlilly 