And now, at the renewal of all things,
it’s joy that is their substance and expression
of their form. It is as life begins
in spontaneity and innocence.
The lamb, however, bears its wounds – the marks
of former things miraculously enduring
in the dawn. It is as if the spark
of life initiates again – mature,
complete this time, the fruit instead of seed.
The bones that you have crushed, restored, awake
to shouts of joy, amazed at their reprieve.
A broken heart is never a mistake,
the cities walls are fashioned from such stones,
the residence of joy, and joy alone.