� copyright All Rights Reserved Wilson, Richard S.

( for the spirit of James Wright )

When I edged over to gape and gawk, I caught
The soldiers lifting up a man.
Grabbing me by the scruff, I fought
The weight, the splinters, and their pagan hands,
How the women wept on the spattered stone
And beat their breasts; how from the angry fray
Their voices rose as He lay prone
While I shouldered His pain along the way.

Bruised for life, I found his friends in retreat,
Scared, broken, and wondering why? Trying to cope
Inside, I went to their secret place:
Then I remembered wood that tripped his feet,
The hands that fixed him to the wood. When he spoke,
Something of love lightly caressed my face.