(Having seen the figures on the Isenheim altar

painted by Grunewald)

Waiting for water gasps.

Small and by your side
without my head
myself there
without my head.

White him in the center and very big
loose and dry his mouth (a symbol that transcends everything and is beyond)
a sacrifice that saves without saving.

Black behind, all small.

I say that (darkness only has its outline)
their actions happen knowing that they happen
that his fate opens up to unexpected horizons.

(Wet bread melting in my mouth

his hand open in delicate surrender;

wet bread and his bleeding feet

when the wine is savored in my mouth.)

Black behind, and the breath corrupts everything.

From the windows the pain entering
the deep night, the sore skin,
the deep silence captivating the bodies
the cold afternoon where I am.

Small and by your side
next to the mother
myself there
next to the Mother.
They say "it is her Word",.
they say "it was written";
the blood is something very strong,
everything happens without being explained.

(My body grasps the Word,
without it
may comfort her.)

The pain grows

my word

it must wane.