Rebirth

This
is the hope
that is twice
dead;
laughter
from
barren womb.
this--
dead branch
in
my heart
sprouts anew,
manna for
shriveled soul.
resurrection comes
in
form of
words
and I
am shed of
this onus
though
it leaves a
deep lapidary
well, sharp
on edges begging
fingers to find
it’s empty
shell
and rub.
I am
carved
out;
empty.
Hazo asks,
what is left,
then, but
to live
with wounds?
yes, I say,
what?
yet,
over and over
this belly
fire returns.
hope peals--
shatters heaviness
breaks through the
oppressive air
hope.
I hope
still.