Slabs of agony from past lives

all landing on the reconfigured vessel,

soap bubble eye of body

staring through the arrows of rain

in a flashing force field

scanning panes of light

sharpening bladed hands.

The light at the end of the tunnel

is a cemetery.  Rails of granite

run like a tape recorder.

The warmth over death

is a miracle.

Marble benches mirror

my falling bones.

Somebody's features laughing

are trapped within it,

the network formed

by leaning branches

is alive at work.