Friday, 2 March 2007

IX Jesus Falls For The Third Time

Down and down
to where toenails
are hard yellow
and breath is an intake of dirt
and where the gutters
run damp and stinking at noon.

Where the sun has gone:
an eclipse of legs and hem lines.

Even the fascinated wince,
even their intake of breath
stutters as body and bloodied
wood crack heavy to the grit.

Light twists and heaven is,
for only a moment, dark.

And the moment stretches
and it will always be there
in the memory of angels.

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