Tonight, ashes eve.
Tomorrow, ashes drawn
feeling them there
where I cannot see them.

Not this year. This isolation.
No one will spread oily ashes
in the sacred sanctuary.
I will remember them –
ashes of yesteryears –
gritty scrape and black
and find myself, again,
looking to the saving season.

Lent. Remembrance, remorse
for the sick and the dying.
Salvation out of suffering –
born of darkness, like life
escaping the jaws of death.
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Portland, Oregon – February 16, 2021. Eve of Ash Wednesday in the Catholic liturgical year.