His Last April on Earth

From wilted weeks and dailyness of days, 
Sunlight lifts him to a clarity 
He's come to recognize well. 
Never has an April been so bright – 
With rain or sun, 
With mud or blossom. 

Purple gold surrounds his finalizing 
Nature self and soul 
At flower fields never sighted before 
In Netherlands or netherworlds. 
Tulip bulbs sprout to the sky; 
His spirit-soil is in bloom... 

Petals watch to open for the light 
And close at nightfall without questioning 
As day sun drops away. 

      New eternity wraps around 
At foremost days or hindmost weeks, 
And he savors the dew of human time, 
Sipping joy from its passing. 

Not indifferent to the force that guides him 
Toward the Garden Gate of God, 
He lives. 

                    For Mike Markham 
          April 11, 2005