Your hand on the hem of the robe,
on the cloth.
Your voice on the air of baked sun.
Your words of dew on the cracked soil of death,
calling for life,
Your feet in the clay,
Your face in the hands of your Mother.
Your back to the whip,
Your tears to the ground,
Your hands pierced through
With a nail, with a nail.
Your blood seeping wounds,
Your hands stretched out,
Your feet splayed.
Your side opened to water, to blood,
Your words poured out.
Your body to cold, dark stone.
Your body enwrapped, perfumed.
Your body imbibed and atoning all sin,
Awake on a moment of time.
Your hands unwrapping the layers,
Your body enclothed in white.
Your hand on the hem of your robe,
Your voice on the air of a garden of dew,
Your voice on the air of an emptied tomb,
Your light, your light.
Photo is a public domain painting by Odilon Redon, Sacred Heart