I Sang a Song

On the first day,
he so badly
needed rest,
he just slept
and slept and slept.

On the second day,
we sat
in the dark
and talked.

The tomb was cool,
no sun upon
the wall,
our figures soft,
the only glow.

Again and again,
he looked
in wonder
at his hands.

When I asked
if there were pain,
he smiled
as if he
did not hear.

I might have
done the same,
for such a thing
no man alive
should bear.

When evening came,
he sighed,
then lay down
once more
to sleep.

I sang a song for him,
then listened
to him breathe.

Sometime later,
I too fell asleep.

On the morning
of the third day,
I awoke
to find him
bathed in light
as he gazed out
upon the earth
from the threshold
of the tomb.

I heard him clearly
when he said,
This is not
what I wish to do.

Then came
his last embrace,
and the pleading
of his newly
healed hands.

As I watched him go,
I thought of Lazarus,
alive against his will.

We did not meet again.
I looked back
inside the tomb.

April 14, 2006

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