Both heels of his palms, this Easter, held red
punctures; Caesar’s crest, grace and pardon.
He gifted his wrists to his pockets and bled
blooms, like the roses in a Roman garden.
From the terrace she watched the pageant unfold:
Bowered petals showered the crowd in the street
and lovers, on scooters, cheered and threw gold
and blue powder; dust from his hair to his feet.
A girl in an Easter bonnet last year
had sung him no less a sonnet of love.
He’d not heard her voice since he was last here,
but she sang to him now from somewhere above.
He brought a palm to his brow and gazed up.
A girl in an Easter bonnet raised her cup.
A synthesis of Easters past and present
I love the way Nick’s sonnet weaves traditional Easter imagery with modern pageantry, into a love story. Wow!