Resurrection
It is that hour when
Everything turns simple.
Silhouettes and shadows.
You find yourself
Taken like a child
Up to her bed
On Christmas Eve,
Or like a chess piece taken
After a stupid move.
Some faceless master
Lifts you from the board
Of the earth.
The board folds
In on itself
Like a piano being closed.
In the new darkness,
The keys turn
The same color,
Neither white
Nor black.
And they are made
Of bone, these keys.
They are skeleton keys.
They fit the lid’s lock.
At dawn they turn.
Open the lid.
How is it Easter already?
No one is awake yet,
But there is music.
This is what was
Once known
So beautifully
As resurrection.