Way of the Cross

even if the church is catholic, I am not. yet
as the streets quake with the aftershock of footsteps,
the world shares a communion. we unite
in morning. we rejoice in the Way of the Cross. the
sacrifice it demands, the death into life. crumbled

towers, ashen rubble, memories wrecked
in stone. a faith leader grants the benediction
to summon a time of rejoicing in the wake of death.
we hang our heads and hearts and smile a prayer.

in death, the man in blood red and saint white says,
Christ unites in our griefs and joys,
our heartaches and heart songs. we stick like glue
in the shadow of church rubble, the silhouetted Apennine.
now we are awake, as the earth shakes, and a savior
marches toward the cross.