Good Friday 2006: Contemplating the Crucifixion

When you think of it,

don’t think

of the soft down of angels

haloing him

in golden sunburst of seraphim.

 

Think how human he was,

already broken by the betrayal

of close friends

who never understood,

never kept vigil

or came to see

the rusty spikes

break the small bones

of both palms,

the cuneiform of his anointed feet;

never came to hear

his valedictory,

or help answer

one hollow, holy question.

 

When you wonder about it,

think of his life as cipher,

his blood for your blood,

his words for your flesh,

until your wonderings touch upon

something as human as he is

in this graceful, green world,

in the meat of your own holy hands.

 

Good Friday 2006: Contemplating the Crucifixion (version 2)

 

I doubt

the soft down of angels

haloed him

in golden sunbursts of seraphim.

 

I imagine him already broken

by the betrayal of close friends

who never understood,

never kept vigil

or came to see

the rusty spikes

break the small bones

of both palms,

the cuneiform of his anointed feet;

never came to hear

his valedictory,

or help answer

one hollow, holy question.

 

His life ciphers:

his blood for your blood,

his words for your flesh,

until your wonderings touch upon

something as human as he is

in this graceful, green world,

in the meat of your own holy hands.

 

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