a poem

Now Playing: "Fifteen Variants on Dives and Lazarus", by Ralph Vaughan-Williams. (Also known as Psalm 22C.)

Here's a poem that you all may be able to help me with. It seems to be missing something to me, so if anyone has any suggestions, I'd be glad to hear them.

Note: The dashes on the last two lines are put in to make those two lines stand out instead of being "justified" with the rest of the poem since I can't get this ridiculous publishing format to accept the "tab" command.

Crucifixion

I cannot see his face. His head is flung
Against the sun, and shimmers in the heat—
Bronze heaven glaring down on molten earth
And metal men, their shining faces slashed.
His hands clench as his legs tense helplessly—
Push up, a gasp of bloody air, then hang,
His chest bowed outward from the splintering wood,
So sun shines resolutely on whipped back,
On writhing fingers, thorn-crowned head. “My God,
My God, why have you cast me off?” his voice
Breaks thirstily. Blood seeps from cracking veins,
A thousand needles pricking out my sins—
His flesh inscribed with quivering miniscule.
I’m kneeling suddenly. A Roman foot
Kicks Mary, his mother, toward me, and
Her tears stain my shoulder. Golgotha’s rocks
Bruise my heels as I cradle Mary’s weight.
Crowds jostle past. A Jew with hanging locks
Laughs, “Look! He saved others, but cannot save
Himself!” His two sons snicker. Their fringed robes
Are hitched above defiled dust. Dust coats
My toes, my hands as they strut past their king,
Their king upon the cross. He coughs, he breathes,
“Father forgive,” through gall-and-wine blanched lips.
“Oh Magdalene—my son, my son,” sobs Mary.
John rests his hands on her shoulders. “The ground
Is shaking!” gasps Salome. Rocks slither past.
A blinding instant—I see crosses tip
And quiver, then the sun is dark. Half-heard,
I hear him sigh, “It is finished.”
------------------------------The earth shakes,
And soldiers curse.
------------------------------Hours later, evening sun
Casts wavering crosses on the bloody rocks,
Three shadows swimming through bronze air. He hangs
Limply, head lolling to stained chest, hands stiff—
I seem to hear again, “My God! My God….”