Pages flex, frames advance,
as their characters, bereft,
dance from edge to edge
while time or magic ferries
a reversal, a resurrection.
Death may have been a robbery,
a shock, a hackneyed grab
for sympathy and sales,
but undone it brings
an infinite cacophony of hope,
of second-guessing, of knowing nods
as the protagonists all stand,
heads bowed in rain,
written around an open grave,
their costars better buried than returned,
better ash than bird.
