Jonathan Finch
CALVARY
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Here I hang like statue from a cross –
the stone engraving of my life in one sharp granite stare,
the vinegar upon my lips and this same dusty hill advancing and retreating
in a rush and whirl of movement
while the agony within my side
has stirred my memory to soft remonstrance of my love for them;
and in their glance they cannot sense the reeling imagery that flashes
with kaleidoscopic brightness down my mind,
intensifying every moment, vivifying vision,
till my sick eyes’ tendency to darkness brightens
and I gaze far down the valley to the green shrubs and the watered crops,
listening to thrushes as the evening nears –
the sound of children’s voices climbing up the hills to me.
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