As they were coming out, they found a man of Cyrene named Simon, whom they pressed into service to bear His cross.
if ever a man needed a double and some time
to let the pulse come-down and blood warm,
a breath and long moment to think.
I hope people let him be,
to stew in the bigness. A change
best viewed at the bottom of a tumbler;
meaning not understood but felt.
I hope he didn't rush to words,
left it in images, smells, and pains
still shooting from shoulder and neck--
undecorated, without ornament.
I hope someone bought him a drink
he let soak down to his toes
as flavors came out slow
the questions took shape:
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