Upon Their Resolution

Upon Their Resolution

(“…in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed.” 1 Corinthians 15:52)

How do we slice the moments smaller and slower
to savor the glance, the hidden smile we saw by chance?
Where do we find the spoken word from angels who delivered
the comfort, the backstory. We preferred they unveil themselves
and announce their names. Instead they pass into the crowd.

Why do words stay captive we would rather exterminate,
the angry harangues, the deceptive offers and winks that
disguised smoldering hate.

Why can’t we capture that single tone of the single song
which turned round and round our heart-chilled winter,
the whole-note (a thousand tiny vibrations) that let us weep,
let us steep in joyful esteem?

Who turns the twinkle, who plucks the quiver of the harp,
who flaps the wing or buzzes the gnat; all tiny, all visible,
now;
unseen past the next eye’s blink? Can the thought appear
and vacate the same space, the same time, the same atomic
structure of particles and waves, string and elasticity?

Where is the finale; the two chord answer to the opening fanfare?
Is it a surprise ending, with the patrons half-clapping when the
chorus resounds full of calliope and merry-go-round?
Or, having grown accustomed to the tune, background hum
of simply living, are we startled by the horn-blast, wishing
more time?

I cannot say I’ve enjoyed every moment; the clash of chorded half-steps
leave me unsettled and anxious. But upon their resolution, the
thunder across the mountains, the cannon in slow motion,
on our feet (or deafly impassive) will we applaud the final act

And stand in line for the next Master’s Creation?