Sparrows and Lilies

There is a gold
butter envies in a sunset
backlighting
a stand of long leaf pines.
Spring begins extending light,
gilding a dozen tree top sparrows
as purple crocus
thumb up from the ground.

Swaying maple buds
tap their hint at resurrection
against stained glass
as we ash our foreheads in
procession,
from the basement, a crashing noise
as the Life of the party
drops burial cloths,
and the faces of lilies
rupture death's dour door.