Christ’s Silence
Before adversaries and accusers
reminds me I don’t have to answer to
tyranny, nor remain a prisoner
to war’s overstayed visit. In silence
and vigilance camellias pink the bush.
They bloom like roses against what’s left
of winter’s dark, cold-creased grief. Hush,
do not defend the warp or weft
of loomed lies. The lamb before shearers
remains spine to belly soft, its brisket dry,
passed over and smoothed as blades purr
close to the docile face of peace, in wry
imagination, if nowhere else. Likewise,
say what you will, Janus faced Trump. Be false.