When Lazarus rises from sleep, again
He sees the detritus of living—
smoke trailing sky machines,
walls reduced to rubble,
trampled casings, dry riverbeds.

One by one, his bones
leave their ossuary, return
to the tomb in grim procession—
first a femur, then a clavicle,
the tarsus, six ribs, the sacrum,
and, at last, the crown.

They huddle on still stone
in the kokhim, in darkness.
Outside, the world blazes
yet illuminates nothing.