by Pavel Chichikov
On Easter morning two stones thrust aside:
Death is shifted, dawning sun slants upwards –
Drops refract the Christ's immortal power,
Lens the image of the twice-born man
Little Christs on leaves, on stems, on branches
Each a simulacrum of the one
Who lives forever as he lived with us
But now of flesh that far surpasses ours
Now he crosses every boundary:
Oblivion and limestone, mud brick wall
But will not force a soul to consolation
Although his life is trembling everywhere
Those who see him live may turn away
Unwilling to receive his gift of joy
Because the insect called the mourning cloak
Shivers in the swift-dispersing frost
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
