Feathered costume
Earthbound, we view the heights with envy;
sew together costumes of borrowed feathers,
wrap up, marching to the high meadow
hoping to catch a friendly breeze
under makeshift wings to lift us,
to become that which we imitate,
to make real that which we pretend to be;
wretched, absurd, but the only chance we have
bound in this heavy and grave custody,
until, when and if, grace invisible, yet palpable,
grace of some sort unimaginable
comes to retrieve us, inform, redeem us,
comes to transfigure, return us
to the heights we view
from such a great fallen distance
and believe we once commanded
yet ever so dimly recall,
having only our loneliness and estrangement
to encourage us to attempt our liftoff
and escape from this earth
to which we seem, even in death,
to be so inextricably bound.
O child of God, perhaps God’s mercy is moved
by the sight of your ludicrous feathered costume.
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