In the stillness of the cave he stood
unwinding the cloth from his torn body.
Earlier the hired guards had moved the stone a little
to peer in, assure themselves of his death.
He slipped through the narrow aperture
as if in a dream or a prayer.
The opening in his side had closed;
holes in hands and feet were sealed in blood.
He looked back at the men
sleeping beside their empty wineskin.
He was somewhere else now, as if without walking.
The night wind seemed to lift him;
or was it only his hair stirring back from his forehead?
He stepped into the water, his blood pale roses
floating around his knees.
He began to climb the steps of the sea.
He walked for a while on the surface of the water
among angels of mist.
He rose through a cloud cover into the blue midnight.
This was the blue of a dress his mother used to wear;
her arms seemed to reach out to him as in his childhood.
Now he was walking on a highway of stars.
When he came to a dark portal,
would there not be light beyond?
He stood at the doorway, crying out,
“Father, I have come home.”