Did the stroke of love penetrate your breast
As deep as it did mine?
Or was the cross that broke my back
Deflect it to spare me?
And here I am: fallen, broken, hit and bleeding
From the sweetest wound that ever was
My love for you, distant memory of mine.
All that remained of you
Is right here between the edges
Of my ceaseless slash
Round like the serpent, sharp like the blade
Punctuating my language like a commanding officer
Marshalling every thought, every breath,
Every word, and every poem.
Who is to stop this bleeding?
Or am I to open a world blood bank
Of charity from this lesion
That just won’t heal, won’t heal…
Are you bleeding just the same?
St. Paul’s shame and ailment are ours
For the word is the blood of Christ
Sweet love of mine, my saviour,
In your absence the Son grows mighty gentle,
His soft blessing on the lips of my life