Tuesday, February 10, 2015

The Burning

 
 
She entered into the soul of the servant of God and stood against dreadful kings.

                                                                                  The Book Of Wisdom; 10:16

They clothe her in cotton

sheer as rags of mist

tearing off the mountain.

 

Her hands bleed

as they drag her into the square.

She steals a glimpse of herself

in the fountain. A blond figure

 

braided and breathing fast.

She imagines her pulse

the glimmer of hammered brass,

(like  bowl or bracelet).

 

A palpitation of crafted light

that echoes something

ancient and divine.

 

Men anoint her garments

with lamp oil and untie the wrists.

They lock her in a cage

and light the match.

 

She bows her head and taps

her heart several times

whispering in Latin. Heat rises

shadowed by an off-shore wind.

 

Above the sea, in a space

of immeasurable height -- she watches

her body withstand the flames.

 

It does not burn.

 

 

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