The Slow Dawning Part 1: Linen Cloths (Easter Day)
They lie bedraggled in the tomb, alone,
The one the women seek not here to find,
Bandages of death with no-one to bind,
No sting of death left for them to contain
And the spices that they brought no more of use,
Only two men outside in fiery white
And a surging in Mary’s heart that slowly says
The one behind her with the living voice
Does more than keep this garden and this tomb
But has rolled back all of death’s dense stones.
The Consolations of Writing 