they crucified a man in all his might

first they made him smaller
until the eyes were pin heads
and the body like a matchstick
didn’t weigh more than a dewdrop
on the snail’s tentacle

then they made him silent
buried all his words in a worn-out ditch
of an old playing record

finally they stretched him entirely
upon the small wheels of a pocket watch
hidden at the back

eventually it ticks on Easter