The mystery can’t be put into words
but it can be written in blood;
shaped by the arrangement
of certain human bones.
Truth walked the earth; took in the view –
It’s rambunctious body upsetting the bullock cart –
pulses aflutter;
necks craned and blushing,
ears pricked up; heart-throats,
long empty, suddenly filled with song.
The blood of Jesus is precious
because it runs thick with the mystery of Love.
Reaching for Your garment –
(when You wore Your Jesus robe)
the infirm woman needed not scripture ...
but the soul-stirring presence of the Soul of souls
moving majestically through the pressing crowd.
O child of God, please understand – reading
the wine bottle’s label will never make you drunk.
Love this one (and all of them).
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