The Gospel of Judas

The shadow

In our hands
Was just a shell. We carried it
Between us, a bucket spilling
Two or three directions.

The moment you were tree-like,
Wind screwed into a nail.
You spoke in tongues of thunderstorms,
Spitting wounds.

Nonetheless, I marvelled. I saw air
Take purchase in the slippery grass.
I saw, in your hands, that birds
Were your hands.

But, I saw, staring up from
The bony sockets of myself,
A beast, settled on drizzled rock, a threadbare coat
In the silent ear of your faith.

They meant to see
The stations of your directions:
A shadow,
Moving in and out of sun,

And still.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.