Like Jesus He Rises from His Hospice Bed

The death rattles start. Gurgle sounds from the mouth—the dying man dreams. Girds up with newfound superhero gusto. Longs

to reinhabit the world. Zaps away hospice nurse, wife, children, floats through walls, pierces clouds collecting the universe's emails.

Flummoxed, sour-faced, he weeps. We did this to ourselves, he says. The human voice a relic, eye to eye contact a sin. Into the sewer he jumps; frail limbs bulk, vision

restores. He lands in the Atlantic, reincarnates as a whale. Divines, swims with turtles and eels. Water leafy green; rain wallops the shore,

etches eyeballs on the sea. What did the sea teach a man camouflaged in blubber? Water is the Almighty … he says … before my awakening, my wife, in the early days,

wet with love … water harnesses Godspeed things: bridges, flowers, babies, water builds cities, water x's out cities … water befuddles me … water is a riddle … anchors and swallows a ship …