Climb through the ropes
I can almost grasp it in my bound hands.
How the sword must slice itself into pieces.
And blood must be used – to wipe away the blood.
First, you are a boxer in the ring and then,
the referee between the two and then,
an intimate spectator expected to absorb the blows
without wince or cry, bruised and bleeding
at the violent end of a leather glove yet also
from a nosebleed seat just over the county line.
Yes, I can almost grasp it,
as it slips through my gloved hands
unencumbered of any defensive pose,
facing the impossible with a daunted inadequacy,
rushing forward to catch the punishing blows
and offer a bare, bloodied neck
to the melded shards of the original sword.
O child of God, to resolve the soul’s intrinsic quandary,
courage and forbearance must climb through the ropes.