I touch the wood
Of your cross of grace.
I cannot look at you
In the eye, but I know
That I belong there.
Standing there –
The unforgiving wood
Holding you there,
As your blood runs down,
Deep red on darkest brown;
An uneasy yet perfect display
Of colours matched,
As though from eternity
One had been created
For the other, just for this.

Your blood runs down freely
Covering my hand –
Scarlet stains that make me
White as snow; clean; pure.
I know that you have
United me to your suffering
To know your life through
Your shed blood in your dying,
And to know your passion
Through your shared pain.

It is a gift of love – a gift of life,
As the horror of your terrible
Death is shared with me,
To bear in my body what is
Lacking for others, for the sake
Of your beloved bride.
You share your precious
Life-giving blood with me,
That through Your death
I might have Your life,
And in Your resurrection life
I might know You in Your death.

Revelation at Quinta