when they kill

when they kill us without killing
and we die without dying
leaving only the undead (motion without movement,
paper in the wind) remains;
well, afterward
blameless they will blame us,
having never killed;
and innocent convict us,
we who never died,
of daring, as we did, to live again.
for when Life relieves us of herself
she drains her sweet dregs down
into the compact dawn of new life,
the virgin morning of next year
and a sunrise with no past.

January 2020