Resurrection

It’s quieter, says I,
Than any but the first,
When things became
Something from nothing.
When there was no time.

It stops, time does.
He sleeps wounded
And awakes unharmed
Like he was before creation
When there was no time.

He rises, he does,
With the breath of God
That called into being
All that was not
When there was no time.

He looks, and I am framed
By the wound in his hand.
He smiles through it and I fly away
To tell my wren-like friends.

© 2010 ES Kraay