What did Lazarus feel,
waking in the dark
shrouded and shriven?
Did he rise
cursing the contagion
that killed him
and stop open-mouthed,
mind agape at his living self?
Is there surprise
to find life again,
having once lost it?
Did he grumble
at the lot he drew,
his turn to be the one who dies
to prove that life
is sleight of mind?
And the rumble
of the stone
as they levered it aside,
was it welcome?
