It would hang two inches by one,
of hallmarked silver, luring him into the shop.
It was detailed to the belly button.
The finely cast body made him sadden but excite,
when he saw Christ so clearly.

He bought a two foot chain for it,
and tried it on. It was modestly hidden by a shirt.
He smiled at the jeweller
and received no response,
as if their religions didn’t snap.

He wore it with pride,
but now it’s lying in his bedroom drawer,
neglected since his mania passed
one still, crisp
autumn morning.

The crucifix mingles with strips of lithium and risperidone.
He’d been taking those straight-jackets
since that turn of summer 98,
when his mind made runaway connections,
and he thought he’d finally grasped the truth.

2/12/01 – 13/7/11