αὐτοῦ: μηκέτι τοῦδ᾽ αὐτοπέτρου
βήματος ἔξω πόδα κλίνῃς. – Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus (192-193)
We had in mind no poet’s praise nor wreath
In racing to the tomb. (This angler bears
No athlete’s art, except at pulling oars!)
With gaping mouth, though, John would yield his youth
To age’s privilege. Or was it faith?
My older wisdom gives me pause to parse
That day – the empty tomb confirmed, the course
Resolved that death would break its bedrock oath:
With neither earth nor water there beneath
My feet, I’m hogtied to wood, and steel secures
The victory. So Nero’s circus stirs
To life – my head goes swinging underneath;
The post beam finger-figs the sky. Its curse
Reveals the path that once more takes my breath!
Christ’s triumph and Peter’s share in it, summed up in a moment — and that moment, one of my favorite recorded in Scripture.
This is a good’un, Mr JOB. Nicely wrought.
Mr. Nguyen,
Mucha ‘bliged. I’m racing against the clock to get the rest of the starting team, the scrub and the traded franchise player done before Christmas bells start ringing…
JOB
Call it, “14 on 14”.
JOB