Nard.

One weeping angel
Stops
and dances with abandon
across the stars, across history
to the feet of Jesus
And he is forgiven.

He will not be damned.

Perfume pours from his eyes and onto the feet of the Holy One.

The others do not see because they are still weeping,
their faces pressed against granite hands,
hands wet with tears that fall
and sizzle in the stars

I have a fragile spine
I am not made of granite,
and I do not dance through time and space to Jesus' feet.

The Lion and the Lamb sit together with license to condone or condemn
Their eternal loving stare crushes me
as I approach carrying nothing