NaPoWriMo 2005 – Good Friday, Bleeding

Blood, they say, will have blood, will have sons and lambs
asplay on stone, on wood, on altars stoked by branches,
will have lifeblood stroked on lintels, doorposts, uneased by rams
atangle in a thicket. This is such a masculine salvation:
visible, not invisible, flowing where all can perceive it,
where all can be changed or not changed, a flood
in which to bathe sins, faces, guilty hands. This is not
the secret blood that stains thighs, that seeps from wombs.
This is a public death, with darkness at noon; but mine
is private, making light the midnight, scouring insides clean.


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