This is a really old one -

Taken aback by the gold of my scratch-
I wasn’t expecting to find a
delta of yellow beneath such thin skin-
the bloody glory of the broken Man-God.
How can one man be a container
for a sea and carrier of eternity?

It was my rust that broke your
skin and held you there, nailed;
that tore your back
and punctured your brow
and yet your rip drips gold
to heal my cut.

How is it that these rivers
can wipe clean my tarnish,
taking my guilt and
leaving me gilded?