How, when He had breathed tetelestai
and died forsaken, sinking into Hell—
the Three Who must eternally be One
somehow undone, and all created selves
down to their cells in fear of separation,
even death from life-beyond-death split
(witness these somnambulic saints in shrouds)—
did not creation fly to blasted bits?
Somehow the Three-in-One encompass Time
inside His timelessness, and thus that rift—
if right it was, which Christ in God-forsaken
agony accused—that mobiüs strip
that never splits Them, splits eternally,
is microcosm for the Triune Mystery.
I wrote this poem after a conversation with "Sesoztai," in which we were pondering what actually happened during the Crucifixion. I would love some recommendations of books to read about this question.