John 12

Quickly,
take my gift.

Let me pour it out
upon Your feet
before my resolve wanes,
for dearly have I loved
what seems sweet
and what seems close.

How many times
have I opened this same lid,
breathing in want
of welcome and worth?

I have written my name
in the oil of a seen thing.

I have caressed alabaster lovers
as if they were the promise of love.

Yet now,
here You are,
dusty with earth.

Quickly,
take my gift.

Let me burst death once
and be done with dying.
Let these poor clay walls resound
with the fragrance of anointing.