Friday, April 14, 2017

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.

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