in my mind
christ is babe
or he is dying

he is 30 and calling my friends and I
a brood of vipers
in our temples

in my mind christ is happy
smiling, or something, all the time

but
he would not be as good a god
if he knew not what it is like
to be a young
confused and suffering

to scrape ones knee and know the world is ending
to bump our heads and bleed

I had never been as young as I was
the day my 30 years of plans
came crumbling in

& when they did
I found myself born all over again
I held out my hands and looked to my side
on his knees, I saw the divine
a child surrounded

I saw him young
as young as me
scared, and weeping,
a facsimile of Gethsemane
the spirit above and below him
a child’s face
& a child’s tears
going by the name of GOD

I knew
that he knew
the intensity of feeling
knowing something somewhere is holy
but not knowing where to find it
or what it could be

your face in your knees
hoping it’s an ocean
an ocean above and below
barely breathing
half hoping you’ll be swallowed
half hoping this very memory will be extinguished eventually

but what I saw in his boyish face
was space
to give my grief a proper name
and a place to stay

I wonder how often he tapped into the sorrow of the earth
and I wonder how often it overtook him

& so it was in the curling of his little body
that I knew he meant it
that I knew he could see
and understand completely

I’d always known I was never as hidden from him
as I think I intended to be
but for the first time in my life
that thought did not completely terrify me