I am sitting in a coffee shop
on a warm, bright monday afternoon
I smell toast toasting
And my chai is warm on the palms of my cupped hands.

My heart is aching.
For no particular reason
just heavy with a few purposeless days
and a misalignment of minds.

Leave me not to my own devices.
I look for remnants of criminal activity,
forage for bodies buried under the new growth
and pick at healing wounds.

Whatever found injustice will have been teased out.
Undisturbed, it would simply lie down and rest
somehow peacefully
had I not disturbed its grave with my incantations.

Perhaps instead of charging these tired bones
and chipping away at the remodeling
I could shroud the remains of an empty cause
and let Lazarus sleep.