Jesus cried out in a loud voice,"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."Having said this he breathed his last.
(Lk 23:47)

Reflections

Suspended from the stained wood
His head hangs upon his breast.
Pain pours out like beads of fever.
Odor of death, aroma of passion,
Arise, arise!
Breathing sinks lower, ribs contract
Not to feel arms that embrace or tears that anoint.
Just down, down, simply deeper
The moisture of breath dries completely.