Dripping, he pours himself,
lavishly, lovingly—

into the hole of my wretched soul,
into the whole of this wretched world—

like oil,
spilling in and through every thin place,

holy oil,
come from the crushing cross that took man’s place,

oil, like blood, flowing down his face—
cosmic countenance shattered by sorrow through grace,

taking our place,
the highest grace,
wretchedness undeserving of richness,

how can it be—
his glory, the sun that eclipses
every agony,
born in and out of you and me,

the light of the Son shining
into the hole of my wretched soul,
into the whole of this wretched world—

blinding light
unbinding me,
once was blind but now I see,

how can it be
lavishly, lovingly—

the heart of a savior
broken, bruised, and still beating,
spinning and spilling
for you and
for me.