Sour wine
The acid taste of shame
On the fulcrum, duty
And rightness
Past choice but future
Turmoil
The clay cup flys
Shatters on the 
rough stone wall
Wine splatter blood splatter 
Damn Pilate
She enters and quietly 
removes the shards
The stain will disappear
But not the tension 
His look tormented 
Hers resignation
Silently they share
Yesterday's moment 
seared Into both
Another cup 
A pour of wine
She speaks
He changed me
He nods both hands
Scrub his bristled head
Aye the same