poem by Wilda Morris
Photograph, "Crucifixion," by Clarissa Cervantes
When was it the story became so familiar
I could hear it without
tears, without something
inside stretching, breaking? What made
the fire in my spirit
cold? Please, Lord,
on this dark night
of your crucifixion, blow
on the coals of my heart,
reignite the fires of my love
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