Calvary

pressedgrass

She shimmers gold as barley
hands firm on trembling thighs
in landscapes insignificant
where painted memories dry

the meadow fills all senses
where they’d laid the grass pressed down
her soft wrists under palms
flesh opened like a silken gown

stretching low he holds the earth
like god made mortal now comes pain
and as the memory faded then
it flows through him to live again

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