After Tricia's Lazarus

Lazarus

the tree still has berries,

little purple globes
nestled in clusters with their nightcaps of snow
alive
only sleeping

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Spring

Once vibrant hills,
now pale and lifeless.

We look on-
Weeping, Longing, 

Mourning, Loving.

Cold foliage lays rotting
in an earthy grave.

We wait for a time;

the clouds roll back as the stone
Hope is lifted with the
coming of the sun

Lazarus, arise!

Remove your burial garments

Be clothed anew.