Scarlet Jordan

His blood is round us, red and warm. We seem Helpless to climb out of the rising stream-- The knee that pressed his arm against a beam, The fist that drove a spike into a dream, The mailed shoulders that shrugged to hear no scream Are spattered, soaked, corroded to the seam. No polish can restore our armor's gleam, No perfumes make our reeking bodies clean.

His blood is round us: In a cataract We kneel, with open hands and shoulders bent And we are washed and clean at last. See, see, Christ's blood streames in the firmament, and we Are wholly deluged in its warm descent. His blood has met his blood, and made a pact.

(The spelling of "streames" in the third-to-last line is intentional;
it is a quotation from the 16th century play Doctor Faustus.)