Naked and Marked by a Woman

Snow on my running shoes. A heaviness in the general area of the heart. I cry a little after, the distance between the wound and the one who would heal it made of both lifetimes and miles. Bittersweet on trees beyond the pasture. Must everything always ascend? In the dream I enter Jerusalem naked and marked by a woman, my mission to end not the specific crucifixion three days hence but crosses generally. Who judges you is a mirror in which you perceive the depth of your own fear. How black the river is on an early winter morning! Mirrors cascading. Abide with me a little longer, you who who understand the home I fail to recognize? Fionnghuala and I decorate the Advent wreath with stones, pine cones and greens. Why is it that the light is always later? This prayer, this poem, this stubborn insistence on wordiness. Christ how it hurts. The one woman, the one god, the one son.