The hour of vespers

We met at the cross,

mysterious place of silence,
I heard a calling
coming from the depths,
as a murmuring fountain
like a fragrance of Spring,
the warm gaze
sad eyes,
hands and feet
pierced by nails
holding him crucified
between heaven and earth

tortured by pain
he looked my way,
it was the hour of vespers,
amazed by so much love
looking at him I understood:
it was not the cross that was killing him
but rather my sins!