Ode to the Holy Spirit
As devotee of the divine, I desire to have the
Baptist’s eyes, belief a benevolent sky. The
Christ rose from the river of obedience. As
Dove of the sacred you rested on his crown,
Emblem of peace, caretaker of the venerable
Fire. To your poet you reveal the sempiternal,
God’s deepest sighs, wind that assures the
Hearing cry. Reduced to the least, I implore
In depths, pliant as water, uttering the name
“Jesus” as salve. I’m the man born blind,
Keeping to myself. I’m the roadside beggar,
Lazarus who died, the centurion’s servant, the
Man with leprosy. I’m the cripple on Sabbath Day,
Nicodemus who at last is born of the spirit.
Of sentiency I’m the human partaker. To the
Paraclete, prayer: let comfort be a starry night,
Quietness a dawn drizzle. I’m more broken,
Rippled with pains, because I’m everyone, all
Silences becoming my self-negating voice.
Teach that I may endure. Unfold that I may
Understand. Grace as the new bloom, light the
Verity to my heart’s pond, a pebble like
Wisdom. Rest is a rainforest fountain, an
Exaltation beautiful as the flight of swans. I
Yearn for your gifts to vision, seeing your
Zeniths with humilities of the anointed
Mary of Bethany
I was returning to Bethany when the procurator
Shouted ecce homo! But I saw him who gave us
Back from the dead our brother, Lazarus.
I’d sit at the rabbi’s feet when he visited
From Capernaum, listening to stories of love’s
Miraculous power, stories of reconciliation
Opening to nightlong feasts. He ate with
Overflowing life, his laughter touching.
Yet he could slip into stillness in the midst
Of drinking, drums, praise and singing.
He said the perfume I poured on his head
Was for his burial. I bathed his feet in tears,
Drying them with my hair, joyful to have anointed
Him, knowing my life’s purpose that night.