for Susan, Liz, Steve and Phil

Reverberations, motions of spirit—
_             _only monks or mystics are attentive.

_       _ Beneath the comicalities, the curt court,
_                 _ the rancor of death-head judges—

_                               _ go deep, deeper.

_       _ Soul stirs like the faint flutter
_             _of Lazarus’ fingers’ start
_                 _ —the merest intent of birth—
to lift the gauzy shroud from face.
_                 _ (Caravaggio, that volatile genius—but
_                   _ Christ thought of it first)—

_                    _Lazarus longs to breathe. He clutches thin air,
_     _ though a moment ago, thought of breath
_                                            _ slept forever,

_                                                 _dead bones
_     _   stacked back to back, all odds
_                   _against life.

_                                             _ Now face to face.

_           _And ourselves stirred, who a moment past
_                   _dared not imagine

_           _ —shall we risk it?—the Real Thing.