Rebirth

My Jupiter, with his scar stained hands,

Worked through the wind and storm.

*

The Notre Dame’s arch of a hard day’s spatter,

Yet, the strength of a bull remained.

*

A blotchy sky had turned crystal

By the time I arrived.

*

With flakes whirling in the air

A new guest had appeared.

*

Not unexpected but still dumbfounded,

How could a tiny thing overwhelm as such.

*

When I looked up at him,

The scars became light as feathers.

*

And the hard day’s spatter became

Splotches of colorful Pollock.

*

Because from the moments my eyes had opened,

His did too.

*

They had opened once again.