Still-life form lay in garden;
very image of the holy tri-unity
perfectly cast in brown clay.
The divine animator stoops,
gently cradles prone body, then
exhales his inimitable spirit life.
Heart beats as chest rises;
eyes flutter open in surprise
as first man meets his maker.
Breathe on us, into us,
that we, so cold dead in sin,
might inhale pure love with
respirations of clear joy,
to live grace-full and forgiven;
the image of God, restored.
a poem in my pocket 