I am at once both thieves
With the dying Christ between—
Each one of me stretched tight, near naked,
Exposing the dying my living has brought.
One of me robbed my inheritance,
And spent it wildly, leaving no flicker of regret,
Which the breath of the One between
Could warm into flames of repentance.
So let this cross do what it must
To return me to the dust
From which they say I came,
For at least, I concede, I am to blame.
As I hang dying, the other of me
Forces from my memory a whisper of sadness,
Sighing with remorse to be
Remembered by the One between.
My sigh of sorrow meets his breath of grace,
And I know that his memory includes me
Among those who will live in spite of their dying,
Who will live because of his death.
So, with the dying each day brings,
Let me repent of my thievery
And rise from the sweet death of sleep
With a reawakened memory
Of his dying for both of me.
