Saturday, April 7, 2012

Stations of the Cross: a long series of poems (Station X)

10th Station:  Jesus is laid in the tomb;  and rises


Angels in white lead
the procession out of the grave,
shrink wrapped in grey, riding the currents
of the eternal river swallowing
death's remains in their swaddling
bands, broken by grace.

Christ loosed onto nightfall
from a rich man's tomb, shining
his counter-Covenant against a communion
of fools, his risen body outlaw
to Satan's rule now emasculated,
left scattered in the hall of justice.

From the tomb, testimonies follow
his bright infinity.  Magdalene bows
in the garden following him to
preach resurrection knowledge.  Thomas cries
out his epiphany, the bread come down
alive with marks of Roman savagism

that couldn't master him.
Weakness raised in power inheriting
kingship in the higher temple,
where Christ initiates the gathering
Spirit down from his arms to raise
a ghostly people to himself.


Our resurrection trails his first fruits,
bearing the likeness of the man
of heaven. Our dishonour hushed
condemning sin to absence as we
are hallowed in the family
of Lazarus, spoken out

from the spiritual grave into wakefulness,
closer to trumpets swarming
with new life that betroths
the old heart to the scaffold.
Where our guilt is beheaded
and we become wild enthusiasts 

dancing around a maypole,
freckled human nature directed to delight
in the glories of Calvary,
whose bloody stations made us
to walk again within God's welcome,
that destroys all fear of house-arrest

as the risen Christ claims
our childhood prayers, confessing
out thorns to the sunrise on high, 
appointed for our rising.