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
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