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Terce

St. Peter on the Eternity of Three

Everything I learned about eternity unfolded

in threes. Mary told me about the Magi

and about losing him in the temple

then finding him three days later.

James, John, but I saw her glorified son

transfigured on that holy mountain top.

Coming down, we wiped the dazzle

from our eyes; and for three years

it spread like lilies across the fields.

Then came Gethsemane

and the blood tears he shed

turning stones opalescent red.

That night the high priest’s courtyard

felt as cold as my tongue; I denied him

the three times the cock crowed.

I froze at the third hour

when unctuous Pilate

sentenced him to die.

I could not watch those three crosses

standing stark on that hill

or bear to see the temple veil

ripping apart. The darkness

that followed his death

stole three hours’ light from the sky.

The third day the women,

Salome, Joanna, Magdela,

ran back from the tomb with earth-

shaking news that he had risen,

the stone rolled away,

and his burial linens lay limp

on the floor.

On Pentecost at the third hour

the Holy Spirit descended

enflaming our tongues

to speak each other’s language.

Noised about the city, his promise

fulfilled this hour of sacred prayer.