Aubade for Easter

bondsmen
rise up with a shout

rise the morning is burning all heaven with shame
all heaven's shame burning through the thin shade
bids arise

arise even the trees slowly know this with dark fingers
flowing green with their own energy
bursting like secret particles of meditation
from eastern cornices
growing cantilevered out over the sea

but we, in chains
asleep not watching this night's exposed breathing
nor this morning sweating drops of fog
even we when risen will haggle with the fading slice of moon