2:30 PM on Good Friday

On Good Friday afternoon I crocheted a shawl

During the dying, and listened

To the rasping breaths

Of a labor duplicated around the world

Everywhere. But here

At the epicenter of all being

Echoed every death from time’s beginning

To the end, the expansion

And contraction of these lungs,

Alpha and Omega of the pulsing

Universe.

I twisted the yarn around the hook

And pulled the long strand through the loop

Hoping through all of this, at least

To end up with a shawl

That might provide some bit

Of comfort in the chill

Of that death which would

(Who could doubt it now?)

Come.