El Cristo de Cangas

el cristo de cangas

it is finished

he carved you famously
crying with you as
he cut into your
(into his)
folds of pain
as they did
catching along the tendrils of his skin
(which was his                    and others
also)
something of that weight beyond the word
his knife in his mortality still bore
singing in the empty ear
rarest blood like thunder

(and then among the face to face of this
seeing perpetual horror till the end of days he
backed away into his anonymity
leaving you there
defying heraclitus in the dark)

o they have prisoned you
above their alter
holding you up with prayers and
candles consubstantial with the
sunless air
where broken shards of colours
mingle with the crimson drops
and stain your feet at noon