On this good, good
Friday my heart goes out to my companions at Calvary,
by which I mean
those who are witnesses to the death of life and end of love,
those who are broken open like crumbs upon the water,
those who are sick and crying out,
those to whom no music is playing anymore,
anyone lost, anyone lonely,
all thieves and trespassers,
the generous loves dead at the hands of men
and the men and women with imperfect hands,
the poor whose dreams are low to the ground enough
to be reached by the jackboots,
the forsaken under a stormy sky.
My heart goes out to my companions at Calvary.
I wish I could tell you,
“three short days, and then voila,”
but the truth is, who knows.
I’m here with you, that’s all.
The night is coming and may bring no rest.
Tomorrow may be the day hope finally
gives up the ghost,
and we can stop fussing around with it.
Sunday, if you like,
I’ll come with you to the tomb.