I don’t remember when was his last supper,
although I suspect it was the flask of homemade soup
I brought to the hospital. Only the last breath stays
within my heart-memory. Who washed his feet?
Who betrayed him?
it wasn’t me
it wasn’t him
it wasn’t you
On the last day, my nerves screamed: My God! My God!
Why has’t thou forsaken him! But his eyes were busy
melting into: Forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Now risen within the peaceful sky in me, he’s strumming
the universal in his strato-caster universe:
it’s the way of the universe
it’s the truth of the universe
it’s the light of the universe