Cephas

The last reticent wisp of a Roman

breeze blustering behind me -- sunset almost

at hand -- the crux of this long-ago decision

clutches the nape of my golden neck, squeezing

what few drops of hesitation I might still harbor.

If the flesh is weak, memory may live on

indefinitely -- one need only hold on  

to the sustaining faith of better days.

When you cast your net, taught me a new way

of fishing, dividing loaves so everyone could

have a place at the table, eat until

their heart’s hunger had been satisfied,

I learned the fear of life is a far darker thought

than the dread of death, so long as one has

an indestructible mole to stand on --

to grow in the grace and knowledge of love.

Ken e Bujold