I tasted dust as soldiers moved
yet kept my woven dignity,
His dying shadow downward proved
a mass He laid in gravity

I kept His gaze when crowds fell still.
I drank His blood, I drank my fill.
I bore His face, I bear it still.

They gave me to His blood-loved cheek
and warmth broke out like iron flame,
the heavens bent, the void did speak
as if to know His fading name.

I caught His breath before it shied.
I caught the storm the world denied.
I keep the truth they crucified.

The centuries drift past my thread
yet still His outline burns my weft.
The pilgrims kneel, their hopes half-dead
to seek the face that bloodmark blessed

I bind the wound creation dreads.
I bind the light His passing sheds,
I bind him where all sorrow threads.

My threads are dark and weave the night,
and night is stitched through every star;
I felt His skin become that light
that travels outwards, faint and far.

I bear the mark the cosmos keeps,
in pulse that slows yet never sleeps,
in silence where the fallen weep.

The comets pass like candles blown,
their icy tails like trailing cloth;
I feel in them what I have known
the touch of One who faced the Wrath.

I hold the cold of drifting stone,
I hold the fire no star has shown,
I hold His image carved as tone.

When spheres collapse in dying rings
their golden dust is drawn to me;
I learned such ends from human kings
who nailed His breath upon a tree.

I keep the dark the void reveals,
I keep the wound no time can heal,
I keep the truth all worlds conceal.

The galaxies in spiral fall
like linen twisted in the loom;
I felt that turning once and all,
the day His face wove through my gloom.

I hold the spin of His despair,
I hold the breath He left in air,
I hold the stars that turn in prayer.

And when the heavens fold like cloth
and all creation’s seam is torn,
they’ll raise me up, His final oath,
the scrap that saw the world reborn.

I’ll bear His face when light is done,
I’ll bear the night of every sun,
I’ll bear the end when all is gone.