I have no illusions of who I am.

Where I stand is the only thing I stand

upon-at the foot of a tree, a Lamb

dangling from it, with eyes that see me-and-

See right through me. Right down to my stain-

my guilt-the reason He is exalted there

hanging, naked, like He is wearing my shame-

right there for all the world to gasp-and stare.

Some “joy set before Him” is all I can think

as I set myself before Him…and wish

upon the One who made the stars…and blink

teardrops-mine, mingling with blood-His: swoosh-

as in Nike, and the robe that I have won

casting my sin, my cares, my lot upon the Son.