Glass Coffin

I’ll take 

the metaphorical kiss

to wake me 

from the cold coffin

where I’ve been sleeping 

cradled in icy glass

winter is heartless

with its biting cold

there where I lay

still and silent

in my grave-like bed

my lips have faded

from red to rose to peach 

to numb white 

inside the embracing

arms of the catafalque 

hidden behind 

the misted glass

fogged by each exhalation 

by each sighing breath 

I am confined 

under the canopy of the trees

where the snow 

swirls over the frozen ground

like ash after the fire

has departed 

once you have found

the stagnant glade

I want you to

drag the lid from the 

precious sarcophagus 

even if you 

break your nails

tearing it open

even if you must 

smash it open

around me

what value for 

my awakening 

and therefore what debt 

for life-giving 

for resurrection 

it is past any price

that I know 

how to measure.

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Arthur_Rackham_Snow_White.jpg