Resurrection I

April has come with its slanting light, blue bluster,
The lamb snows.  He knows he can
Shrug off his shroud, and rise.

Beyond the reach of her long arm, free from
Her casual harm he is in a causal state
Of being.  He can listen, think, hear the

Clock tick - he watches bars of gold traverse
The wall, knows his sense of self has
Dimmed, grown cold, so he waits, meditates,

Sinks again and settles like the dust he is.  He 
Expects requests to come but as no words form he
Languishes, fallow and lethargic as land without a

Plough.  His instinct rises.  He listens, his body
Tense as the silence magnifies, then suddenly
Bolts from his chair at the flash of light, the

Colossal thunderclap.  In the charged air his
Hairs begin to singe.  His heart beats loud
And hard.  Then rain begins to drum and

Spit-up the dust - he flings his window
Wide, lets the slap and gust hit his face, stares
Wildly as the rain streams, eyes like Mars.
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