ezekiel 37
you excavate.
in daylight--
bravery in your breadth and depth
and density.
Revisit all the sacred sites
without a hint of reverence.
Your head, your waking heart
resists the tug to bow--
remains erect.
Plow ahead
until all is pulled
scattered and brushed off
numbered and glassed.
Separate it all, create logical patterns.
Neat descriptions of each dead artifact--
you wrote the text yourself
(full of common sense).
And by twilight
brush off hands,
wash the deep chalky clay
out from underneath fingernails-
not a damned spot left.
Yet every night in darkness
all these dry bones coalesce:
behold a shaking.
the forms you snapped apart
methodically, your mouth set
in morning's harsh light,
now reclaim their improbable shape,
the unlikely truth of things--
dancing, full of breath and life.
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