He is anything but light, held rigid
between us now like so many boards, and
the length of our journey is unknown.

Take him,they said, bury him.
He is no longer any concern of ours.

Now I buckle as His holy legs slide
through my tired palms, witnessing
this different sort of cross.

The others glance at each other,
mutter words like wine and bed
and sleep. But these are not reasons to stop.

After all, were we not chosen for this,
to move as one towards rest? Wiping
grit from my eyes, I remember Him halting

the flight of a stone and set my mind
to a firmer horizon, believing each step
of mine to be His final miracle.