When you and I were Jesus,
young, but with the press of destiny
already hard upon us,
did we look at the other boys
and girls and envy them
their early, innocent, delicious
intimations of sin?
They seemed to know
that each others’ bodies
were the very fruit of which they’d been
forbidden and foreordained
to eat and their chins
already ran slick with the imagined
juice of that fruit.
O brothers and sisters,
did our mortal bodies cry out to them,
how we wish we could join you
in your great corporeal feast,
your frolicking with the God in each other!
But we have been made
for some other story, more austere,
harsh as the deserts of heaven...
The shadow of the rood
lies over our pilgrimage.
Turn which way we might
we cannot avoid it. Come,
let us go where we must.