Good Friday

To this hour, lost-
paradise's lone bird,
Thee tried my flesh,
bruised my chest!


Trampled earth,
broken to bleed;
The heaven's strangled neck,
stoops to kiss;
Thee my beloved,
why sponge off-
To thy perfumed hairs,
a world of sorrow?
To thy ailing breast,
my throbbing heart?
Tears, thee feed-
all hungry mouths!


And thee a rain timid and shy dart-
From thy ill swollen sky-flowers,
Unto my beggar's bowl of little flesh.
An old towel of conscience,
With a stench of flesh's sting-
Thee brought to wipe all
bloody scars in heartless hearts!


Magdalene, 
My beloved from the streets-
The last of love dreams,
Go back to Simon's house,
With the alabaster jar-
To perfume thy resurrecting flesh.