April 3, 2021 Easter Saturday Out of Bed, a Resurrection When I rise from morning sheets fluffed like poppy fields around my drowsy mind it’s a mystery, this sudden rowing back from Styx, that is, how death dispenses life like that. What impulse sends the signal to my feet, to find myself fully risen, a bit vertiginous, spiraling into day? A practice run, this sleep, these voyages to the deep and back. And so I grow accustomed to the dark, and this flickering of my day and night. Even the jonquils soldiering in the yard lift their heads to sunlight after a night of unexpected, always expected, snow. I woke up to the beginnings of this thought, and shaped it a bit into this poem. Happy Easter to all!