Stumbling, small
Without wine
of revelation, with brandy, fumbling
in time's tiresome spaces
was it you
who was crucified?

Descended from the rock
Caught between rocky places
denying, flowing with fear of God's untaught
Face, descending on criminals
With unsought grace, were you
the thief
who was saved?

Who could live such wild contradiction
Eternity and time, spirit and
blood, stooping before the majesty of fiction
broken bleeding wrists hanging from wood
what good in the story did you?

Stealing meat from a dying dog, lying
like those condemned with you, and, yes
Mass and Communion at a price; and yet
you are the Church, the patriot's enemy,
indifferent to the poor, can you - you
be ready for the cross?