October Resurrection

Phil Flott

I hardly distinguish the Voice
from my heartbeat:
words of caring comfort
ladies respond to him with an ocean.

I plant one seed.
Such a garden rouses from this earth,
its stentorian loveliness knocks me out
seeing him as he is,

stars in the night,
sun in black void,
peace in Great Plains winters,
clear breath his wind.

How can I convince my kids
not only he’s not dead,
but has slipped into a slicker way of living,

if I allow my tongue to be my neighbor’s tomb,
not a testing grounds
where others taste him?

Phil Flott
Poet & Priest

Phil is a semi-retired Catholic priest. Find his poems in Spirit Fire Review and soon in Beznco & Clay Jar Review.

Photography by Nic Berlin

Ekstasis Magazine