Good Friday

                  
You, my love, my victim, my mystery,
so close to my splinters,
so faithful to my nails,
bleeding my blood, crying my
                  silence,
all of my aching for,
all of my running from,
my suicide foisted,
my horrid, ruin, my anguish, my
                  sorry,

you, my grief, my trembling, my can’t,
my hollowing sorrow, my lonely, my
                  dead,

you, our excuse, our cursing, our blind,
our using confusing abusing,
our that’s bow it goes, our system,
so fit of our shadow, so form of our fear,
our prey, our failure to
                  pray,

how can I face you,
wearing my face,
how can I see you,
being my stranger, my other, my
                   us,

with these eyes so broken?
this anguish so whole? this heart so
                  un?

Yet you, so emptied of fear, of self, of have,
so poured out, so vacant of all of it
                  but God,
cleaned out in forgiveness, dying for love,—
you are so here, so yes, so alive,
so far beyond death’s reach, so surely already
                  risen.

         
         

__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

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