Mary of the Street

she slides through space clad in vestments of intention washed in moonlight nightly you have seen her heard her rave in dreams in passing telling ancient truth performing the required rituals so that the sun might set the moon might rise the wounds might heal and the old die well may they die well she knows the timeless agony that forms when wont meets scarcity and so she weeps not for herself but for you and i for our children and for the trees never for her self for she has sacred work to do sacred work to do each day you have seen her seen her sleep in grime on sidewalks and once under the sacred trees now gone the sheltering trees the trees that were the final gifts of departing gods casualties of war and ignorance and unacknowledged fear why the rituals why the holy intent why does she love us when we have no love for her she who loves our children she who prays and cries and burns each morning on the pyre of the rising sun