i have a beast
or it has me
loping lupine
dog of the Lord
it works in the dark blood
with moonless regard
teeth sharp as prayer
it slopes through murk
eyes burning like Christ’s sins
rumours of a kingdom torn apart
razed by wolves
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we were born of fire,
hammered on the black anvils of Caesar,
not knowing the shape of our sorrow.
the hands that made us
did not dream of gods.
we were meant for beams,
for oaths and doors,
not for the breaking of the world.but we were chosen.
they took us from the leather pouch,
gleaming like dark stars,
and drove us into the outstretched hands
those hands!
so full of mercy
they did not close against us.He did not curse
as we entered Him,
bone and sinew groaning
like old trees in a storm
He looked through us,
past the blood,
into the silence beyond death.we held Him,
yes
held Him like anchors hold ships,
like memory holds pain,
like the grave holds death.
we drank of His warmth,
and trembled.the sky broke.
the earth went still.
we, who were nothing,
felt the world shift
on our thin backs.when they pulled us free,
we were wet with sorrow,
and the shape of His love
never left our iron. -
We, the leaf-breath chorus, keep the long watch,
olive and bramble, root-knotted and remembering.
Under the moon’s cup of slow milk we listen;
our ribs of wood creak like old prayers, our veins sing sap laments.
He comes: a shadow that smells of blood and bread;
we drink His quiet with the thirst of green mouths.Our leaves tremble as if each were a small hand,
fingering the dark, taking the salt of His sweat,
catching the confession that falls red rain.
We know the press of grief; our rings keep the years of weeping;
we had been there when laughter lodged in sunlight, when feet stamped summer;
now the night presses close, and our branches bow as if in benediction.Thorns whisper what our bodies cannot shout: hold Him, hold Him;
but we hold only shade, and the soft give of earth underfoot.
Our roots groan with the weight of all that will be lost and sown;
we feel the trembling step as a storm moves through us.
He kneels; the soil remembers Him, and keeps His name like seed.
We are green seers; silent, patient, witness to human un/doing.
Thorn and Benediction 