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parable for good friday
The primordial palms,
The fishlike fronds.
The sun descending into the earth,
The sliding backlot of freezing stars.
The sightless and soundless.
The darkening hills.
The wistful nostalgia,
The plush, dense shadows.
Eminence of shade across the avenue.
Wilderness drenched into the blight.
The destinations: ferocious and comforted.
The berries and silty seeds.
The flowering tree, the formed fruit.
The triangulation of orbit to translation.
The clay maps of the translated,
With Equinox carved upon.
Sweetness in the evening is
The fruit in plucked maturity
In the shock of the tableau.
Daniel Thompson was born in the Black Forest in Southern Germany and has lived in New Orleans since childhood. He has written poetry his whole life. His latest work can be read in Sojourners Magazine, Catholic Poetry Room, Chiron Review, Flyway, Arkansas Review, Poetries in English, San Pedro River Review, and Metachrosis Literary Magazine, among others.
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