On a mountain in full view
of the sleepy-headed three,
he capsized into light that
turned him beacon,
turned him nuclear. See
him turning inside out against
shielded eyes, shadow fragment
spiders scurrying down the mountainside
toward the horror of the rendezvous,
bidding it wait a little longer
as it knew it had to do
until another mountain grove,
the three again in the thrall of sleep,
and he swallowed in another dark,
choking under churning sea,
blood pooling in the gateway pores,
the rag-twist terror squeezing Him out,
forcing the drip, forecasting by trickle
what the piercing would prove in the pour–
how bright the light now waiting to burn,
waiting its turn, this time brighter,
a million suns brighter than the mountain before.