Wednesday, August 8, 2012

hidden spring

To the Marian waters of Lourdes
go pilgrims limping their wounds.
At the mineral spas of Baden
idlers wager on soaking bones.

But a warming vision appears
as wet as time through her hair.

To speak with me of silence.
To heal by breathing near.
To stand in holy moments
not in this life to be real.

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