We lay on our crosses early
willingly even, to take on
the sins of the world
so we could understand them

could grow in twists and turns
around them
could not avoid nor deny them
though we might forget.

We lay on our crosses early,
small white crosses fashioned
out of love with perfect fitting beams
for our useless flaying arms and legs.

We lay on our crosses early,
without dying,
gathering in the sins.
We buried them for decades,

kept them safe in dry cellars
where they could ripen not rot
til we could savour the wine of resurrection
drop by precious drop.