Good Friday


Good Friday, nearly noon.
Why do they call it Good?
Because Jesus is passing

through the center of the cross,
the infinitesimal bindhu

between opposites.


Because Jesus
the poet of silence
is passing through the ayin soph

transcending every thought
of left or right, above or below.

Neutrinos of bliss in pain atoms.

Plankton stars in the ocean
of blood, feeding the behemoth
of the coming night.


I give you a new law:
don't wait until morning.
A trillium of Marys

entwined at the root.
One is nectar, one is lymph,
one is ancient wine.


Trembling drops pressed
from the stillness of the rose
in her cheek

upon the white lily of death
in his wounded foot.
A new commandment:

embrace the dark.
Receive the gift of tears.
Because Jesus is passing

through the axis of my chest,
and the I is dissolving
into Am.

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