Coming to terms with Christ --

Impassioned, Fragile, down

at the Mouth; bitter Wine, Vinegar of

a pure Sort – marathon

ascetic in the Mountain you

battled your Devil

for forty days, they said – What

kind of Man

are you? – “Get

behind Me, Satan,” is all you said

and it was Enough –

You would

leave this land

heavy-hearted our blood flowing

in your Veins you cry Salt tears looking

upon Us – What manner

of Man are you to be when you

come back

to this Earth here where we await you

prayerfully holding our hands to the Sky?

What is the Sword for?

(Some say if there wasn’t a Christ,

we’d have to invent One); He

is a ghost we acclaim as Saviour, the

suffering virgin burnished by the Sun sweating

blood

this Carpenter’s Child who walks on Water

under Circling doves

above the Sea

his beard grown long in the Wind,

this Nazarite, student

of books and stars the Careful

mapping

out of a Life before Him here

where

the desert Sands wash away

pious longing

in our Hearts – We

are master and Slave to his

will – he who would redeem

us with

his blood an aging poet angling

for Conversion –