In the space between love and sleep <br />when heart mourns in its prison <br />eyes against shoulder keep <br />their blood-black curtains tight. <br />Body rolls back like a stone, and risen <br />spirit walks to Easter light; <br /> <br />away from its tomb of bone, <br />away from the guardian tents <br />of eyesight, walking alone <br />to unbearable light with angelic <br />gestures. The fallen instruments <br />of its passion lie in the relic <br /> <br />darkness of sleep and love. <br />And heart from its prison cries <br />to the spirit walking above: <br />'I was with you in agony. <br />Remember your promise of paradise,' <br />and hammers and hammers, 'remember me.'<br /><br />Gwen Harwood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/triste-triste/
