On the domed ceiling God
is thinking:
I made them my joy,
and everything else I created
I made to bless them.
But see what they do!
I know their hearts
and arguments:
“We’re descended from
Cain. Evil is nothing new;
so what does it matter now
if we shell the infirmary,
and the well where the fearful
and the rash alike must
come for water?”
God thinks Mary into being.
Suspended at the apogee
of the golden dome,
she curls in a brown pod,
and inside her the mind
of Christ, cloaked in blood,
lodges and begins to grow.
Fabulous. Thank you :-)
ReplyDeleteYou are welcome. It is a good one, huh?
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