The chisel makes tick sounds
shrapneling ice, notes passing time. I’m not sure
if I’m digging, carving, or sculpting. Landslides
smooth architecture bracing once breathing bodies,
stopped clocks. The alchemy unique across bodies.
Some hold terror like a baton in a relay race,
and pass it on. Some bodies retain terror
like a force-feeding. Pathogens are neutral
when frozen, here am I,
heated and unlocking—
threading dust to blood—
the work of raising the dead.