by Richard Greene
I have buried Judas in the body of God.
His cold flesh lies under a hill that is God's breast,
his soul is breathing the long roots of history,
he will listen to movements of the world's decay
for he has become like holy ground in Israel.
The lungs of Jesus are emptied of their last psalm,
and the world's slow cramp is loosened from limb to limb.
He is laid in the melting eye of God's desire,
where the Earth has pondered him among all deep wounds
and followed his clay rising with a new embrace.
This poem appears in Crossing the Straits, by Richard Greene, in the St. Thomas Poetry Series
http://www.stthomas.on.ca/poetry.cfm
