Passiontide

And so the time comes to let you go again

like Mary at her weeping station

like Peter in his running shameful cry

like Mary Magdalene’s sad watchful eye

like the soldier’s gasping epiphany

like Joseph gently laying your body down and releasing you

into the tomb the darkness the empty unknown.

We would rather hang on to you friend

and let Simon take the cross as you slip out of line

catch a taxicab out of town

and escape into your suburban green lawn hideaway

where we drop by for a Sunday cookout and a Bud.

The mosquitoes would hover around us like angels

singing "holy, holy, holy" and smell our breath and sweat

and bite you and draw a blood drop

and we look at each other and we know now 

as we hang our weeping heads

that nothing ever gets done in clinging comfort.

And so the time comes to let you go again

and let God do the divine metamorphosis

of every weeping, shameful, sad, gasping, gentle release

into the tomb of darkness where you meet us in emptiness

where when we let you go we let ourselves go also

as we fall into the earthy black of surrender

and wait, wait, wait for your next  creation out of nothing

your unexpected goodness bleeding through

your resurrection of everything we released to you

even ourselves in our fear of you and your mysterious ways.