(Easter 2015)
I hurry off to work
in the early dawn.
I cut through
the cemetery,
past the grieving
friends and widows,
and as I reach
the shade of
the caves,
I knock over
some poor soul.
As I reach my hand out
to lift him up,
I notice the scar on
his wrist.
"Nasty cut, you have there."
Arisen, he grunts and says "Thanks."
"A lot to do today. Shalom."
"Me too. Shalom."
And as I reach the east gate,
with my face meeting the rising sun,
I hear a cry
"He is not here!"
