such love he must have weeped

i think about
the blind man—
the one Jesus
cleansed, or
maybe dirtied
with mud upon
the eyes. over
& over speculators
ask, how can this be?
the man exclaims,
“He put mud on my
eyes. He sent me to
the river, told me to
wash my wash my face.
now i can see.” aren’t
you the one who begged?
“i am he.” we’ll have to call
your parents. they say, is not
your son the one who was born
blind & now can see? how?
yes, he is. they say this
afraid confession of
Messiah could bring
humiliation—you can’t
heal on the Lord’d day,
especially when He’s
standing before you;
you may break a rule.
so these parents
leave their son:
ask him. he’s a
big boy, he can
answer for himself.
so these dumbfounded
persist. how can you see the
blue of the sky? “i told you,
but you do not believe why, ask
again?” they say, go away. we
believe in Moses, you in God.
we shall never agree. Jesus
finds this man, “do you believe
in the Son of Man? “ who is He
so i may, he asks longingly.
He is I, whom you mow see.

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