SEAN MCQUINNEY

EXTENDING THEIR ARMS

Twelve disciples sit at the table
Of His final supper, drinking wisdom
From the endlessly merciful field of grass
He would tread upon after suffering the lash.

Extending their arms to the stars,
They proclaim faith bound with sharp fears
While He cries from darkened edges,
“Already, one of you has betrayed me.”

On a forgotten path continents away,
For each disciple a tree now grows
Of the same wood of which were made
The table, the spear, the cross.