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.