resurrection

having chosen (as we have)
an imprecise dawn to a meek
and sallow twilight

of moth-eaten gods
and slick bruised fruit

having wakened (as we have)
to the still fire of extinction

and the silence

but regenerated, sum by sum
as a lizard's bloody stump
becomes a tail--

what is left but to raise our hopeful brows
to the bagel in the toaster
and another bloody egg-yolk sunrise?