Pentecost Poem By Dana Gioia

Pentecost Poem By Dana Gioia

after the death of our son
Neither the sorrows of afternoon, waiting in the silent house,
Nor the night no sleep relieves, when memory
Repeats its prosecution.

Nor the morning’s ache for dream’s illusion, nor any prayers
Improvised to an unknowable god
Can extinguish the flame.

We are not as we were. Death has been our pentecost,
And our innocence consumed by these implacable
Tongues of fire.

Comfort me with stones. Quench my thirst with sand.
I offer you this scarred and guilty hand,
Until others mix our ashes.

Dana Gioia
from Interrogations at Noon

Pentecost Poem By Dana Gioia

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