And the Passover moon shines down
And the man kneels in the garden
And the bent, gnarled trees kneel too,
While creation holds its breath.
Men sleep, this agony too much for them.
(In dreams we can forget).
But the trees know,
And the Spring breeze pauses its dance,
And the distant sheep are still.
Only the stars, steadfast in their constancy,
Have no fear that he’ll say “No!”
And unravel all redemption.
Those same angels
Who once ministered
When he endured the wilderness
Hold back now,
Covering their faces
Before such holiness.
His will, already crucifed,
Accepts the cup,
Shrinking from its vileness.
And the trees lift up their branches,Looking strangely like a cross.