The white glow from the wakened corpse
brightens the faces of the two
staring angels, one left one right,
and the back of the third, who lifts
lightly the jagged square stone slab
from the tomb's round-arched opening.

The square never fitted the arch.
The reclining head is too small
and the legs too long. The whiteness
sees with the eyes of lightning things
that don't fit. It is eager. Soon
it will ambush the blind dawn trees
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but already it has cut short
eighteen centuries and startled
Mr Blake in South Molton Street.