The Unwinding Shroud
A tapestry lightly stitched,
a Turin shroud of time.
It is a vision of our birth and crucifixion.
a Jesus still ascending
while travelling our own via Dolorosa.
I glimpse of a Christhood rising
within both I and you.
Now the weave unwinds,
threads twist in a rootless wind.
Father, a spool of memories is unravelling
is it a nativity or an extinction?
Linen soaked in life or death
stains the same.
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