Resurrection II

April has come with its
slanting light and birdsong, its
blue bluster, cold air, the lamb snows.

I have settled enough to
rise from my dust, shrug-off
my shroud.  I am 

beyond the reach of your long arm,
free from your casual harm, I am 
in a causal state of being,

listening to the 
clock ticking, watching the
light cross my wall in gold

oblong bars marking the sun's
onward path as it rolls
past my world's room - it is

stately and strong.  I am becoming
opaque, I wait for sight, I wait 
to hear what is requested.

I am quiet earth before the plough.
I am intaken breath, the silent
surrender to tension before the

brief flash of light, the pause, the 
thunderclap and sudden drumming weight
of rain spitting-up the dust.  I wait because

I must - because I am my
own being now, staked and
clean.  You have no claim.  You did not

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