The tenth hour

After Isaiah 53

I found my name

tattooed on his skin

and I did not know

why or how it was

there, at first, but there

it was in blue and red

and plain for all to see

and plain for me to feel.

I ran my fingers

on his skin, to feel

my name tattooed

on his skin, He did

not move as my fingers

touched my name. His skin

was cold, and lifeless,

fading into gray, with only

the tattoo needled

there, an accusation

and a promise.

Photograph by Lynn Greyling via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.