Today, this morning

for once, for all

the mall

and other tombs

stand empty.

Wind whistles through

happy

as a clam who just

gave his pearl

to the nicest girl

he knows.

Something grows

in the back-forty

asphalt meadow—

asphodels;

the wheels of our waiting

dreams aren’t driven here

to crush.

We’ve woken up.

We walk.

Look! 

There’s Mary footing fast

like a teenage doe

past dormant shops

and foodcourts

crying “My Lord!

He’s up!  He’s gone!”

Suddenly the sun

with first forth-flaring vim

quiets the humming lights,

dims the flashy sales;

from the sweating East

to the hungry West

there’s brilliant rest.

And jubilation!

All elevators rise,

the haughty merchandise

sings out praise

and the fake ficus trees

clap their silken hands.

The mall on Easter morning—

endless re-creation:

No Tax!

No Charge!

New Life!