and then, just when we begin to doubt him,
we watch as doubt struggles up to crouch
inside his own baby blues. Oh,
now he rises to his chiseled best,
takes redemption's arrow
deep into his manly chest
as rain comes down in torrents,
lightning timed to tell each flash of news
(the rock rolled back, the lepers' new-washed skin),
and through it all—the tears, the flood,
Thy Kingdom Come in gold
and cobalt streaks—he stands aglow
with Blessedness, with ... could it be
remorse? Whatever for?—and in
an instant, he suddenly
TODAY IN SLATE
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