Blasphemy, He had a whole page Of facts about me An entire biography I had written myself From blabbering But when I set down To write his Only a name Was scrawled in ink Kind words? A bright face? But what did he look like When the moon only shone On glass fragments And the air turned dark From the absence of voices? I saw Jesus in his heart He spread his abounding love By simply talking with those Who were looked down upon But besides his acts from a far, What do I know that he has told me In hushed, timbre tones Sober with intentionality? Shame-faced, I think βNothing.β