Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

There are things perhaps
a father should not write –
how his five-year-old clings
through night in fits of sleep

almost as a woman might
to the man lost in grief
stroking his face his feet
caressing him back to life.

And what if that Lazarus
whose absent wife brought
no tenderness to his tomb
who died alive awaiting

the lover’s Pentecost
felt his doomed body visited
in stupor of emergent death
not by the man of the Cross

but by innocent son
by spotless daughter
who melt a stiffened heart
and stir the stifled breath?