Ezekiel’s Bones

The room is full of them.
Bones.
Line and color,
texture and size,
less about art than resurrections,
Ezekiel’s bones
come to dance.

About this poem

A reader writes “I appreciate how so many of your poems start so dark and end in the light.”

Answer to her e-mail: “The story of my life. I have lived in the valley of the shadow of death” and come out in the light. Anything creative you see from me is part of that resurrection, and who could go through that journey without singing it?”

The photograph is of my studio. The painting on the table that is propped up is called Ezekiel’s Bones. If you don’t know the story, it is from the Bible. You can read it here. It is one of the verses that got me through the dark times.