And Then He Turned His Face Towards Jerusalem

 Then He said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved, so that I am almost dying of sorrow. Stay here and stay awake and keep watch with Me.”

Mt. 26:38

I think in some ways
I don’t want to go with you.
I don’t want to turn my face
also to a dark field.

Is this not also a pearl
of great price?
I found you buried
in the dark,
your face burning brightly.
My hand turned over yours
gently opening,
releasing all my treasure
back to you.

In dark fields
Jerusalem waits
for you.
In dark fields
your great love on the hill
waits with nail and hammer.

Your heart fractures,
your face
a fissure along
our fault lines.

What great love drives you?
What great light beckons?
In your bright sorrow
your eyes gazing upwards

brimming with tears
reflecting that great
light on a hill.
Not a log in your eye,
you pause
wiping your feet with Mary’s hair.

Treasure and pearl,
oil and wine,
thorns remain in our side
as we walk with You.

Anoint your brow with blood,
weeds and wheat cut,
both bowing at your feet.

The oil press waits
in the city
that demands a crown.
And your brow will bleed
under its weight.

Your eye’s brimming,
spilling
salt of the earth.
We are pillars no more,
for looking back.

I’ll try to stay awake
in this dark field.
My eyes will spill
salt, too.

They will burn
as I turn aside
like Moses and yield
to you catching flame,
bowing at your feet
mine own — bleeding.

Mine own,
bowing
under your feet
as you tread
among the weeds and wheat
breaking this way and that
along our fault lines.

Like I said,
in some ways
I don’t want to go with you.
Let the some
break, too
and be gleaned
into the parts that do.