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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