by Rebecca Ebersole Kasparek
A boulder, cast aside
like an olive pit.
An earthquake. Divine
lightning that blinds
before illuminating.
Guards who tremble
at the earth's gaping scar.
A dropped flask
of the aloe and myrrh
that slow decay.
A reeking cavern
strewn with crimson linen.
Wine vinegar stains
on the burial cloth
that cradled his head.
The piercing nails
of his absence.
A solitary mourner,
fearing the worst
kind of theft. The clutch
of unease before death
or delivery. An angel's
message too stunning
to believe. The conviction
that something was
awakening that had never
risen among us before.
Shrouds of fog burning
in morning's lit air.
