Here is an excerpt from Jesus by James McCauley:

"...And when a dove came to his hand he knew
that hell was opening behind its wings.
He thanked the messenger and let it go;
spoke to the dust, the fishes and the twelve
as if they understood him equally,
and told them nothing that they wished to know."

Poetry has that knack for conveying the emotion of a thing, the full-bodied nature of a drawn out moment. This passage gave me pause, and made me think of Anne Rice's new book Christ the Lord which is a surprisingly good read. Jesus, not quite eight years old, is slowly realizing the totality of his nature, and towards the end, in the culmination of the book, he realizes that everything that is born must die, a realization that carries more weight for him than mortals.