So Much Vivid Is The Blood Poem by Cristina M. Moldoveanu

We can see a red blood stain
like the young girl's blushing at her first confession,
too vivid to be washed away, too deep to be trodden on foot:
another temptation on Via Dolorosa before the earthquake stroke.

The older are the wiped out crosses in deserted graveyards,
the same are wild blackberries growing between them.
The older are the blue hues at Voroneţ,
the same are all the clouds above them when they break,
leaving the sky wide open like a Bible,
as older as the summer dew upon the fields.

And like tree shadows tremble among the unseen things in river waters,
the same the iron plated Christ trembles in the wind.
And so much life is in his arms forcefully lifted to the nails,
so much that heavens cannot fall on earth since the beginning.