What if? What if Jesus Christ was gay, would the zealots turn away; fundamentalists have fanny fits and baulk in disarray? Would they worship Christ crucified, or kneel down to pray? What if Christ was born a girl? Would churchmen jive and whirl, profess their adoration, banners of love unfurl, or would they in deepest dudgeon choose their King James swords to hurl? What if JC was not a Jew, would ‘no Semites’ hate renew? If he was black or red or Greek (how to say to race, adieu?), would the Godman be less holy; less meek, somehow, or true? If nature-topping miracles ‘didn’t’; would divine grace be unstinted? Would the faithful find hope dented, would love by magic untinted conquer loathing, light a path? Or would hope’s coin be unminted? What if virgin conception was a stuffed-up mistranslation; if the cross’s murderous stations marked a finite, cruel partition? Would a brave man’s pain and death mean his words suffer stagnation? If the words upon a page were inspired, but not sage, if the literalist obsession was no reason to rampage across a person’s right to love or breed; would that be cause for rage? If the Bloke was atop the sod, still around, we could plod alongside him for a stroll and duly hope he’d give the nod to our concerns; Q.E.D, please God. Pulses Pulses in our temples. Carrots in our tombs. Plovers in our hearths, tourists in catacombs. Hymns and chants in salad bars. Offices in bloom, with paper mache manifestos calling for more room. Grievances in lockstep, faux pas in lengthy queues. Cruelty in cadavers’ end, peace for ageing roués. Hope for unseen vistas Peace for travelled paths. Joy for slaughtered innocence. Love for aftermath. Grace for unsought trials. Faith for visions fouled. Quest for silenced harbingers. Dream for passion’s shroud. Laughter in hushed voices. Confidence in eyes. We surpass our broken clay: We are God’s surprise. On your bike Sixteen good years since I ceased mourning your detour through swathes of lovers and the gulf from yes to know. Denial from now. Revised, re-scored and recast, life is much greater than I’d hoped for; felt I deserved. For a long while there was a gap, a fell hole that took laughter and innocence and belief. (Cue grief,