Christ became whit small
died on a whit of wood
God impaled on a splinter dies?
Quick-sensitive the heart of God replies
When it was time
no lick came
to ease him
spittered with mouth-oil
that eased the easy words
of recognition
he,
unstained,
stained ill
he,
appraised by sick justice
promoted by uncourted selection,
and elevated,
will wholly loft us
beyond staining
he,
exposed
hoisted on bleak, wooden hearts
exposes bark and grain
yet he,
arms wide, drift gathers,
loves us more than we would
Loving and being loved
till love day come.
(C) Colin Darling
posted by Colin Darling @ 7:01 PM
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