from Heart of Love
Transfiguration blossoms from the awl;
what solitude could drain the savage seas
dividing nature and the canopies?
Shall bells for weddings ring, and veils fall?
Can flowers hang on spent transgressions all?
Then in her blossom of decay
ironic mysteries prevail
in sacred light where hangs the nail
prophetic for her darkened way
so luminous it hides the day.
Redemption's golden chain
hangs by her jeweled breast
with rubies twice imprest
cut from her martyred vein
where Christ is sown again.