the road to Emmaus

promise me that it is real
and not just wishful thinking

that with my open eyes
i will not be blind
as i hold onto the spinning world
that dizzies me

when the grief is raw
on the road to Emmaus
and it is not clear where i’m going

promise me that i will not miss seeing her
in the wanting to
so much

that i might recognize the divine
in utter strangeness
and notice
when the eternal and tangible collide

promise me that it will be enough
to feel her transformation
for just one second

before you both vanish
in a cloud of dust