Here it is

I can't write poetry. But here's a poem anyway.


Eulogy

Abraham climbed the mountain for three days
Every fire tied to the altar's,
Every knife-stroke smelling of blood -
From the eyes just like his own, a still gaze

Job sat in the ashes for seven nights
Each sore torn away by the sherd,
Each wound where once a child was balm
Deplored by the men who pitied his blights

Martha and Mary waited for four more
All peace lost in their brother's tomb,
All joy bound close to his body,
Left behind like husks on the threshing-floor

The Son of Man hung naked for three hours
Sometimes hope appears in its loss
Sometimes darkness consumes the sun
To reveal a light lost to her powers

July 6, 2007