Christ had this nifty trick
of slipping away just when
he was about to have his head caved in
or get himself hurled off a cliff
by the local talent.
What luck. Or gift
of the Spirit, I suppose, given
he’s the giver and keeper
of such things. Spirited away,
isn’t that what we say
to mean poof?
Vamoose! And so he did
at the exact right
and wrong moments,
at least from where I’m standing.
Held out when he shoulda folded.
And good thing.
Not me, though. I mostly want the wind
to make a ghost on the hilltop,
slip off unnoticed, leave them
looking around, wondering
just where it was I went to. Taken,
maybe, up into the clouds.