CZECHOSLOVAKIA

CZECHOSLOVAKIA

Your martyred body is painted on time. Painted blood runs from the holes where the nails have been, from the stones on your head, from the arrows shot deep into your legs and breast. A painted nimbus of light illuminates your face. The countries of the world, like painted grieving saints, stand helplessly about. The painted executioners do not know what they do. You are dead, painted lying in the tomb. It is still the first day. If Christ had come to earth as stones and woods and fields and trees instead of as a man, He would have come to earth as you.