good friday

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