By Pavel Chichikov
Dextrous as a dark flower
A serpent stem, a leaf and cup
The odor of it thick and sour
Between the rocks it wriggles up
Infertile as the lime it spreads
Beyond the slaughter on the hill
Although His death may move the dead
The Christ of life is buried still
It seems a plant and yet a beast
Insinuating from the stones,
Asexual as any yeast
By violence reproduces clones
There is no garden where it grows
Golgotha has no fence or wall
It flowers where His murder goes
The nectar phosphorescent gall
It spreads by every child that's killed
Its vigor indestructible,
A weed of famine, war and womb –
The Lord is risen, not exhumed
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