There was a presence before the stone. <br />A pressure so much larger than human <br />wounds. My mind let go into the crags <br />of sorrow and I grew <br />this cavernous heart. It was a tomb <br />but also a garden. <br />One is the other <br />always. The spirit rises. The body stays <br />and blooms. I took him <br />for the gardener as the roses were wilted <br />on the lattice near where he stood. <br />He'd been broken and nailed <br />but nothing showed. Not one thorn, <br />not one bruise. The light stunned, <br />magnetized me reaching for his robe. <br />He threw out his arm, a bolt <br />of lit wires- shocked-I fell back. <br />I wanted the warmth of his skin, <br />to rest my head there, <br />but how removed he was, glowing <br />from his brow, both palms. No seams <br />for the ravaged flesh. The shade of white <br />on his garment, almost golden <br />like the air behind his head <br />when he taught us Truth. <br />No one dies. No one <br />ever dies. No one <br />is alone. <br /> <br />The painters only saw my body <br />as pulp, pigment and bone, the thick <br />color of my hair. But I was traveling <br />without movement, statue-still, <br />hardly there <br />while all my being <br />hummed. He said my name <br />and my head knocked <br />the sky. His gaze limbered my knees <br />and the suns in his eyes burned <br />through mine. I came to <br />myself alone, stupefied, not knowing when <br />he'd gone. And I ran to tell the brothers <br />we must choose belief, despite <br />the fears which fool our senses, <br />the fear which covered Eden up.<br /><br />Deborah DeNicola<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/noli-me-tangere-3/
