no comfort knowing
that I am not the first,
nor millionth from the last,
just one beneath the cross,
as the son bled god
the mother, dreamless now,
flickering, a shadow
of a moth
around an ancient fire

aren’t you proud? and I say
I am frozen,
rigid with worship.
I have touched his uniform,
robe of a  holy man,
yet beneath the cloth
I feel the boy
and know his face
in clouded light,
breathing sleep into the dark

copyright 2009, Jody Serey