At the cross

                  

His pain that I cannot stand.

My hands nailed, helpless.

This absence that is a weight.

This grief so like death, so living.

This regret, unwelcome predator.

What I could have done, and why not.

My weight he bears, that lifts him up.

He came to find me in my ruin.

This is the part when I cannot know.

Only later: that I was not alone.

Love that holds even death in its arms.

         

__________________ Steve Garnaas-Holmes Unfolding Light www.unfoldinglight.net

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