Purification Two, Earth

He has a dream that puts him in his grave;
He’s still alive, he knows, but there he lies –
The darkness close upon him, but he craves
For nothing more than what’s before his eyes.
He can’t explain this momentary peace:
He’s quite alone; he feels the coffin’s plush
Warm pillows, soft upon his flesh, increase
Their hold upon him in the folding hush.
Then all at once, a rush of something near
Takes him, like Lazarus, and from this place
He’s lifted up, with pounding in his ears
And grasping for some air as in some race.
Now sitting up in bed, he feels the chill,
And glimpses sunlight low upon the sill.