Crux

This Christ of vertical purpose –

the scream of the window

not his

but Jerusalem’s.

He hangs firm, having suffered enough, 

his eyes on the dove

descending, and what’s left of grief

is the grief of the Father.

And those few followers

who look upon him,

in their haloes they breathe 

a different air.

Only the centurion’s rock-set face

is yet to be convinced.