Ash Wednesday
Donna Vorreyer
I exit a marked being, trying
to beat back my animal
with ceremony, to learn
the oblivion of belief.
This mark says I am no
slave to the snake though
I still ache to touch its tail.
Each new century demands
a resurrection. Ashes to ashes.
Dust to whatever the heart is:
a clock ticking its way toward
some inevitable end. A torch
that has only learned to burn
what it loves.