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I Grasp Not the Hand


Neil Bridgens

I feel ape-like on a crucifix,
condemned in this hour,
alone amongst a martyr of fools

who gallop on wild wings.
This night of decision cuts into wrist and sinew,
yet my blood unstains
under this palm branch

that soothes my blistered feet.
My bones are brittled in bandage,
wild I lie in need of resurrection
and deliverance.

I am saint-like and featureless,
before this hour i shall arise
i am eternity
my chains grow strong.

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