No Jesus Bones Crying out Loud

He is Risen In Deed my devout friend affirms:
”no Jesus bones “for heaven’s sakes
Embodimentalists insist: out of the tomb
intact blood pressure good, kidney & renal
functioning fine, lungs just breathe!
No deadly need apply; no morbid moribund
O my God: full figured & little worse for wear
descent into hell not with standing;, some holes
here and there to confound doubters letem see
thru my hands & let this be a lesson to you:
death has it’s sting sure, no doubt ouch and
ooo my yes damnit & for a moment forsaken
for crying out loud but can you hear me now?
See me? Touch me? Feed me? “Love cracked
me open and I’m alive to tell the tale—but not
honestly—a simple honesty is nothing but
a lie. The words change it. Let it be”

"The Third Dimension"
Who’d believe me if I said, ‘They took and
split me open from scalp to crotch, and still
I’m alive, and walk around pleased with the
sun and all the world’s bounty.’ Honesty isn’t
so simple: a simple honesty is nothing but a lie.
Don’t the trees hide the wind between their
leaves and speak in whispers? The third dimension
hides itself. If the roadmen crack stones, the stones
are stones: but love cracked me open and I’m
alive to tell the tale — but not honestly: the words
change it. Let it be —here in the sweet sun — a
fiction, while I breathe and change pace.
(“The Third Dimension,” Denise Levertov,
re-configured.)

"Cuttings (later)"
This urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks,
Cut stems struggling to put down feet,
What saint strained so much,
Rose on such lopped limbs to a new life?
I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing,
In my veins, in my bones I feel it --
The small waters seeping upward,
The tight grains parting at last.
When sprouts break out,
Slippery as fish,
I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.
(Theodore Roethke)