The Gospel of Judas
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,
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:
Moving in and out of sun,