Crucifixion

I think of you

on this quiet day

as I walk

through  grass

under skies grey.

On the cherry tree

I  touch hard crowns

poised to burst

to new fruit

hard and round

for fierce

mockingbirds

to devour.

But this is your hour.

On another tree

you wait for me

as burning skies

blast your eyes

and living blood falls

in bitter drops

to sacrilegious ground.

O, lift your dying gaze

to heaven’s bright gate!

Pull forth flowing faith

from your soul’s

deepest core.

Though you seem

to be all alone,

I’ll pray for you

at last to find

the golden way

to go back home;

for the Father hears

every prayer

and opens

every door.