Wednesday, July 2, 2014
The Spirit of Mary
(Mary’s house in Ephesus, 1996)
In true vision, I saw her, the Immaculate Conception,
Who came in the haunting and outlying distance?
In the backyard of her house in Ephesus, one morn
Of all the poets, —Hence, in a mist in white
She absconded before my eyes; I was captivated!
And her gown, a white soft holy gleam of silver dust
Weaved with ease throughout its fabric!...
Just a gaze, perhaps a vision—in my time, in a realm
Of knitted shadows, I saw her convoy… Hence, this
Morning in Ephesus, within its unsearchable dew.
All the tourists had left! I was the only one who kissed
The cobblestone floor, the only original part of the house!
Yes, I was the only one left! And with her came a hush,
A peacefulness, a low light around her, softer than the shadow
Of the rose! I knew that this was she, that every poet’s soul
Would envy, — Thenceforth, her presence was a haunting
And a grace, unutterable;
To even the point of writing this poem.
Thus, I have tried somehow through transmutes, and
Transforms to convert the light of her afterglow…
Into this poetic form. I know it’s an abridged depiction,
But it’s the best I can do...
No: 4422 (Written 6-30-2014)