Mary Upon Morning

The morning sun, suddenly wincing through

The enormous mood of clouds hung days
Before the hill where so many waited, wailed,
For any sign at all that their recent
Born faith was not conceived in vain

The large cutout in the air where
The cross once impaled the sky
Will never fill in, leaving in its place
A transitive scent to any nose
That would later come to its senses

She inhaled what had been done to

Her and to that which came from her
And knew the bitter taste of sacrifice; a
Perfect pearl of pain that would linger
Upon the tongue of the rest of her days

Just moments before her sufferance returned

From its journey around her heart and
The discovery of the stone tossed like
A pebble upon the lake of salvation,
The blinding light of promise

And its ripple effect that will long outlive any of them