Billowing bright down comforter fluffed and brilliant beam
Of color rich cleanliness all trace of stain soaked
And washed away. Crisp and fresh from an outside clothes
Line like a modern day man who’s just stood up from
Kneeling before Christ in the confessional. Bleached
Brite cloud like (white) manes of long linen fuzz fibers
Cotton and woolen (strings) caked no longer in filth
And putrid things. Is there a greater elation?
Quite clean, my soul exposed to the forces of power washing nuns and scrubbing friars,
Now dropping down from a Hercules C-130 flying at 16,000 feet,
Floating back to diseased trees, shriveled shrubs, and infested landscapes with four soldiers,
One on every corner. Beauty is not of the flesh which will be consumed in the
Grave but of the sweetest soul; (scented), lighter than Downy Dryer sheets; kneeling on
Bench seats before bounding out like wooly dandelion seeds; done like Donne’s conceits.
- Gary Edward Geraci