Gethsemane Moon

I lit you,
bloodied and wet, the Virgin’s arms   
shaping your first cradle

I lit you
as, late evening, the chisels
work you strove to perfect 

I lit you,
clear nights lakeside,
bringing vocation to hairy fish men

I lit you,
days end, crowd-pressed,
healing-weary, and word spent

I lit you,
late nights hillside,
your Father’s love, your bed

I lit you,
early on that palm-strewn path
destined for faux glory

I light you
now, here, through olive shade,
cool light mirrored blue on beaded brow,
shadowed terror,
and gold glimpses of angels’ arms
shaping your last cradle.

Julia Sheffield
Maundy Thursday 2022

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