Not so good friday

We are all crucified,
nailed to the spot,
nailed to this cross
of space and time.
Time the horizontal,
space the vertical,
our heart at their intersection.
Arms outstretched,
taking it all in,
gravity pulling at our body
as we thirst for relief,
for dying to this crucial fixation
and opening to new birth
from the womb of the tomb,
released,
open space at last,
room to fly.