Good Friday

it was the sound of a bird
startled from sleep its wings hurting the air

it was a sound like shame
since then I have not slept

my ears multiplied I heard the hammers
ringing down the cries of men and women

the wing of sorrow 
beating louder and louder

words betray the delicacies
which hide in each freckle of each face

each gesture each strand of hair each voice
calling its own call like no other

it is the shadow of love
kicked bleeding from the garden

whose hands burn
through barricades of flame