Is Spring coming as I lie here in the dark;

Broken and boneless, a wriggling pink worm?

Do the crocuses rise in the snow-full park;

Where the deadened echoes burn to reaffirm?

Does the cold sun pontificate on past joys?

Does the white frost of death flay your skin alive?

Am I filled with hope, loud buzzing as a boy?

Or do I fear a new beast is yet to arrive?

Let me lie here in the shadows of my room

Where I am planted on the verge of this change;

Like Jesus before they heaved away the tomb

And the Breath of God became newly deranged;

Cemented in truth from his disappearance,

Monstrous, mutated in its new coherence.