he lay on the gray floor of the cell
on his back, his hands gripping the bars
like the iron grate was dragging him
to someplace for his penitence  
the other cots were full
their sleepers weary from their jaded journeys
long ago they had forgotten
the rails that led
to the dream of freedom
their eyes, when opened
peered into the cell  at the others
who had their own time on the cross  
under black skies that opened
only long enough to mock their torment
then close for an eternity of night
leaving them, as
prisoners of their own device  
he looked upward yet  
hoping to see through the concrete and steel,  
the crypt where they all lay,  
and catch a glimpse of blue sky
even while prostrate, hands gripping the gates
that barred him
from the green fields  
the puffs of clouds
from the friendly drifting shadows
and other wakeful dreamers
even then, he hoped to be freed  
from the chains of the past  
from the wicked weight we all carry
until the skies opened once again  
with the taunting promise of
salvation