XVII

With those arms nailed to the cross
you, Master Carpenter, have built a house
of God on our poor earth, giving it
a dwelling on our soil. Four nails,
crafted by mankind, nailed you
to the tree of your death, and our life,
creating a place of love on our soil
for your Father. And here is a home
for your sacred head, in which the increate
Word resides while resting on your breast
like a cushion; and as it touches you
it feels its humanity, since that is its goal.