“Red as butchered beasts
Miracle-mongers end;
Sang the first wound
In the left hand.
“Yet Pilate’s scroll proclaims him
King in this land;
Sang the second wound
In the right hand.
“Not a man any more,
A cold blind root;
Sang the third wound
In the left foot.
“Yet every cancelled seed
A laden stalk must shoot;
Sang the fourth wound
In the right foot.
“Sweet image of our guilt,
A girl and an apple;
Sang the fifth wound