Updated: Jul 24, 2020
On Caravaggio’s The Taking of Christ
Master Caravaggio crowded six of us onto the canvas,
But your eyes may be drawn to just two,
Our faces torn out of the shadows, myself and the Lord.
He looks down, tranquil,
As I near his mouth with mine.
We are perfect stillness in the clamour and the clang.
The soldier’s metal arm cradles us tenderly
While the artist holds a lamp which illuminates nothing
But look there at my face, the greater grief is mine.
And the sacrifice so poorly rewarded.
Already I have placed the rough rope around my neck.