Friday, August 18, 2023

O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden

For Conrad Alexandrowicz


That afternoon, in the crypt,

I saw them coming 

over the rise, weapons 

at the ready. Only for me,

I thought at first. Then turned

aware that He 

was even more vulnerable. 

Naked. Hanging. Nailed. 

The only choice

to shield His body, knowing

the bullets might 

lodge in me, or else

passing through would knit 

us wound to wound.

Nothing for it,

then, but climbing up

to entwine Him,

as consort to

my Boddhisattva.

His erection in extremis 

miraculous, a pledge of Life's 

Longing for Itself. 

He, turned outward 

toward the death squad. I, 

facing Him. Unable 

to welcome them 

with open arms except 

by way of the embrace.

By welcoming Forgiveness

Itself deep

into my body.

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