Pastoral

The Dove walks with sticky feet

Upon the green crowns of the almond tree,

Its feathers smeared over with warmth

Like honey

That dips lazily down into the shadow…

Anyone standing in that orchard.So filled with peace and sleep,

Would hardly have noticed the hill

Nearby

With its three strange wooden arms

Lifted above a throng of motionless people

- Above the helmets of Pilate's soldiers

Flashing like silver teeth in the sun.