Gethsemane, Tawa
By John Dennison
- He is alone.
- The Easter moon,
- its sheer, unguarded face, floods
- the underneath of everything
- in the park with darkness.
- Beside the stream
- the playground watches; it swings empty,
- slides down to the ground.
- He’s on
- the other side, over where at
- truant lunchtimes college students
- restage Eden, the fall.
- He kneels,
- stands, kneels, is not silent,
- speaks what I do not understand,
- as all about his friends in hopeless
- sleep compose a parable.
- Their feet shine.
- Again he stands,
- is crushed by a fall of light, gathers
- his body—the night, his friends, this park,
- the careful suburb, the state highway,
- the islands, the waters and all they mother,
- the under and over, the singing all—
- gathers it into agreement,
- his
- encompassing, excruciating yes.
- Still now, his hands shine. They
- have washed and washed and washed tonight.
- The darkness moves to kiss his face.
