To Peter on Easter Evening

Crumbling Rock, crushed
     by the nausea of self-hatred
     and slow corroding of despair,
          Love’s betrayal,
     the ‘you’ in me, lost;
     Oh the night, the night,
     the chasm of grief and
     the deep well of failure.

Then shafts of light
     and you, radiantly renewed,
     come to me, I prostrate
     with humble joy,
          I stricken Rock
     healed, lifted up, no reproach
     in your gaze.
          Love’s restoration.