the freshness and breath

                                      taking chill of the Atlantic

                                      the freeze which then eases

                                      into a twist in salt water

                                      sharp and spontaneous as

                                      laughter, to lie

                                      in this rightness of sun

                                      seaweed, water and sky

I think that Mary, the Mother of God one, 

Was an introvert.  A thoughtful, private young

Person, prone to treasuring things in her heart,

Not blustering it all out to everyone and

Of so much light, the pulsing of perfect DNA

Anyone.  For who would understand the carrying

Through fingertips and hair follicles.

Who could Share the depth of her questions, having held eye

The One who flung fire and dust into stars. 

Contact with angels, having been overshadowed by

Only with Elizabeth, bearer of grief and grace, older woman,

Cousin, friend, did she sing of how her girl’s body was

Straddling worlds. 

Who else would, or could, clearly hear? 

Until the sting of that sword in her

Own soul stabbed into our primal fear.

Slashes us towards empathy

Her own son Struggling, suffering

Meshes with her flesh and bone.