Cross

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 axis

of your breathing,

passing through the ayin soph

to liberate the flesh from every 

thought  

of left or right, above, below,

discovering neutrinos of bliss 

in atoms of pain, Selah.

Plankton stars in the ocean

of blood to feed the behemoth

of the coming night.

I give you a new law:

don't wait until morning.

A trillium, three Marys

entwined at the root of the Cross.

One is nectar, one is menstrual flow,  

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 I give you:

embrace the dark.

Receive the gift of tears

streaming from the endometrium.

Why do they call it Good?

Because Jesus is passing

through the axis of my backbone,

where the I is crucified

into Am.

Painting: Detail from Lamentation over the Dead Christ, Sandro Botticelli