May your sight burn with the flames of grace
as you stand over the bones--
ivory white and stacked high in the sand--
to behold the roaring wind
bringing the dead, clattering, back to life again.

May your despairing heart be singed with joy
as you walk with a stranger
along the road.

May your life be watered by the dew
when Love surprises you in the morning.

May you stand defiant before the logical world
as the prophet of the impossible,
to thunder in sackcloth at their disbelief:
"Why seek ye the living among the dead?"

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