Day 35 (Maundy Thursday)

The meek tenor of flesh
rippled across stripped ribs
he washed our feet
of the strange feeling
that all had changed.
“We need you more than ever.”
The disciple he loved
leaned into his breast
against the spondee of
frightened heartbeat
asked of betrayal.

The wind whipped against shutters
a fragment dipped in a pool
of oily sauce; the burnt bitter herbs
stung more so that night.

We were deeply drunk,
passed over the cup
later when the last of the
fat-spat lamb
had been scavenged
from the greasy platter
we opened more jars and danced late
sang songs of staying alive.

How that turned in its own colour
next to death.
How tenacious our breath.

My eyes and arms were heavy
throat thick with wine
muscles dripping off bone like
harvest vines.
You asked that we watch

yet rich umbre under enchanted grass
seduced my eyelids until I felt
a soft hand pushing
up through my neck nape
set senses crawling
back into the night.