And what did you hope to find when you thrust
your hand into the side of born-again Jesus?
Would the kidneys be diamonds, now, large
and smooth as river stones, the sweetbreads
all gone to rubies, warm and red? You had it made,
right, the guy who held in his hand the amaranthine
entrails of our resurrected Lord? Who would believe
that even as your fingertips next felt the nail holes
in His hands, a megajoule jolt running through you
like lightning, part of you wanted to hold up
to the light the emerald of His spleen for onequick appraisal of color, cut, and clarity?