From afar, they seem concord grape clusters
clothing body and arms of this enshrined
crucifix—purple racemes’ pure luster
a gift of early-morning dew—entwined
vines wrapping Jesus’ life-size image with
royal robe, now near indigo. Love, see
how pea-like flowers support ancient myths,
covering all, yet leave sunken face free,
his sad eyes gazing past feathered petals
toward gray clouds slicing azure sky to streaks.
Remember how, in youth, holy medals
adorned our necks, his form glowing? We’d seek
redemption from sin and God’s blasting scorn
by touching smooth-etched cheeks, his crown of thorns.
Roger Armbrust
May 2, 2009
