He holds his holy hands
out in front of himself,
showing me the frayed palms.
Silently he sings
the fullness
of his pain.I cannot respond
except
to thirst,
yearning to catch the pooling blood
in the cup of my hands
and carry it to my lips.I wonder if someday
it will not feel
like a martyrdom
just to have this –
just to have a
body.