Good Friday

Cross

We shall try again this year
to turn the tethered cedars
into signposts for doctrine
we’ve made up, or into poles
for flying flags of conquest,
or into corner frames for sails
to billow gales of church talk.
We’ll let them be anything
but what they are: two limbs
lifted from the earth, joined
at right angles, in creative
friction, to fuel a sacrificial
fire that beckons far-off
exiles on their beaten road,
toward an unexpected answer.

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