By Jerome L. McElroy
No one knew how the two
leagues apart in distance and ambition
became so tightly bound in flesh
death could not shear asunder.
Perhaps a childhood misadventure
or adolescent fantasy
sewed their souls together so
there was no crease between them.
Lazarus the confidant
was the one who listened
absorbing every disappointing sorrow into dust,
melting every dark night into dawn.
He could rinse the clouds away
with the yes inside his eyes,
could grace His sails in the doldrums
with the crease of hope across his cheeks
Without a word, in his bosom
Jesus slaked His thirst for solace,
found the strength to breathe the heat
that still sparks our spines today.