What makes his fall?
The weight he carries
or the rough road?
Perhaps the blood and sweat, stinging his eyes
with no means to wipe them clear.
The Lord falls.
In doing so,
he excites the cat-calls and the jeers
from those whose sensitivity has deserted them,
their imaginations dry and barren.
He does not choose to fall.
Weakness overcomes him
but, in falling, he declares
that our human frailty is his to share.
He does not court mockery.
He would have sought to make this journey
with something of dignity,
something heroically defiant
To fall so soon
is a humiliation.
And it is in humiliation
that he stoops once more to bind himself to us.
He picks himself up.
He carries on,
not oblivious to how they mock him
but determined, staunch,
holding his course.