The crimson spiderwebs trace across your skinfrom the springs of hot woundsto gather and stream in rivulets.The capillary tendrils joining,gaining momentum, flowingwith greater certaintydown. To meet in this heavy drop,and then, to hesitate.Poised, steady, for a moment frozen,at the threshold of eternity, hangingbetween heaven and earth,as gathered angels weep hidden, burning tears.To fall, finally,our ransom,upon…

via Good Friday — Experimental Theology