O Judas,

we’ve come here hungry from every nation,

our mouths whetted for lamb, our pockets

emptied of leaven, our feet in need of washing

from the servant boy who still makes claims

He witnessed the Nazarene turn water into wine

at the union of the bride and groom in Cana.

O Judas,

I remember God hardened the heart of Pharaoh

so there might be twelve sons, twelve spies,

twelve nations, twelve mighty angels guarding

twelve gates leading to a tree of life with twelve fruits,

twelve legions waiting in the trees of Gethsemane,

I’m lost in the corridors of time again, the lines blur

as the Nazarene cuts in and out of centuries,

twelve stones, twelve wells, twelve baskets,

twelve disciples and one with hands of silver.

Melchizedek carries the fire and hands the torch

to whoever must keep the story going along.

O Judas,

He hands the blood-soaked morsel to you.