resurrectionist

a sudden fall of silence so deep it cracks with the cold of it

the passing of an instant, in which the accepted procession of things spins on its heels, and the life that seemed to lead on moment through moment drops down, lies flat, and everything happens at once

the blue-lipped girl on the bathroom floor coughs, sits up, and propped on her arms, stares at the mottled legs stretched out in front of her

the dead cat curled on the chest of the dead woman arches back from its front paws, rocks its head back and begins licking its white fur bib, and the woman opens her eyes, reaches both hands up and around from her sides, and scritches the fur between its ears

the smashed man in the smashed van pushes himself back from the steering wheel and, finding his legs, steps out into the road, places his fists in the small of his back and leans in to a stretch as the motorway rushes past

the decayed man by the fence in the field rights himself into a kneeling position, then sits studying those hands in his lap like a man surprised at prayer, as the crows scrawk and fret high in the elms above him

the bloated man on the sofa rolls off sideways onto the floor and stops there, panting, all fours founded, the flat ribbed dog in the corner sneezing once and sitting up to watch him

the dead man in the pub toilet reaches a hand up to feel the wall, slaps the wall, shucks off a walking boot

the dead woman on the red cotton undersheet yawns, licks her cracked lips, pats the bedside table for teeth

the man under the tree in the park sits up and stares ahead at the shadows gliding noiselessly along the pavement

the bloody woman in the bath raises her head up from her chest, and begins to pick the wet strands from her face so she can watch the door

and transport arrives, figures of green and black

and Time through them all, leaning in with light fingers, unzipping the dead to the very atom, scattering what has gone, and passing on

and everything changes

and nothing does