Marian Vision

Beauty will you sit with me,

At the edge of reality,

In the dark times of night?


A mother’s kiss would

Do away with unwanted

Dreams.  Mares of the night

Yield to a Marian sight,

An aeviternal light.


“Woman, behold your son.”

Eve is the setting of the sun.

“Behold your Mother.”


The Sun sets on a corner of a room.

A web coruscates in the falling light.

Hanging, a caterpillar is wrapped in web—

Desert by a spider’s murderous intent.


Through a window, a thin piece of glass,

I see the trees ablaze, burning unconsumed.

From another room, the doleful sound of

C minor breaches the walls.  A sonata calls.


Eve is fallen.  The trees burn no longer,

Only dark-blue silhouettes remain.

Cold and bare, Winter branches tangle,

Arthritic and aching at a glance.


Then the chants, the varied tones of

Thin Winter air—Tugboats on the water,

Trains across the river, horns, whistles,

Whispers from another time.


And in my glass of water, a glint of light,

White, diffuse, a specter not able to disabuse me of

My heavier emotions.  Still, I look for the

Source.  My eyes search; in predation or

Prayer, it’s too soon to tell.


But a soft, white light is osculating the trees.


She hangs above me.  I’m not forgotten;

I’m not unseen.  I’m illumined by a lunar

Queen.  Cold ice is white, it’s true, but so is she.

And she hangs above me, brooding warmly.


She keeps me till the sun rises.  And when it does,

I look at the web again.  The spider has not lacked

All virtue: He’s patient; he waits; too long.

His web of destruction has become a cocoon.


A Monarch decks the wall.  Bells ring through the hall.

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