Descending Theology: The Resurrection

by Mary KarrFrom the far star points of his pinned extremities,cold inched inblack ice and squid inktill the hung flesh was empty.Lonely in that void even for pain,he missed his splintered feet,the human stare buried in his face.He ached for two hands made of meathe could reach to the end of.In the corpses core, the stone fistof his heart began to bangon the stiff chests door, and breath spilledback into that battered shape. Nowits your limbs he comes to fill, as warm watershatters at birth, rivering every way.Source: Poetry (January 2006).