Reading the label
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,
Your 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 the hem of
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.
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