The women knew their effort was in vain:
No box of unguent, myrrh, or aloes could
Prevent the corpse from rotting; muscles would
—with bones and sinews—turn to dust again.
The body, pierced and bruised, had two nights lain
Entombed behind a massive stone that stood
Between these women and the pointless good
They meant to do for him who had been slain.

An hour past, two women race pell-mell,
With empty hands and bursting hearts, intent
On bringing news of angels who defied
Embalmers’ plans and bid them quickly tell
Apostles what they’d left undone: the scent
Of spices wafts from caskets cast aside.