this morning broke melancholy
and gusty
no one amazed the sun had come up
because a porridge of clouds
hung heavy at our backs
we crawled to work in the chill, ant-like,
but enthusiasms curbed
the dull brightness of sky grew less and less
then the wind howled
the rain vomiting down
in midnight darkness
—
and so He hung aloft
for hours
in the thickening air
beyond feeling physical pain
so terrible, so horrifying
was the wrath into which He stared
while crushed under a thousand billion
particular hells
He the blameless shamed
the hero abandoned
—
all-powerful, He could have called lightning
to testify and fire to emblazon His innocence
He could have healed the greedy wounds
that left His bones exposed to air
but all this He quietly took
so He could be separated from perfect Love
and draw us in
