A small girl withers in a meadow, crumpled
as a tissue used and tossed, snowy sundress
circling like a halo once held-tight. A pearl,
fair, slips softly from a shrouded eye, piercing
the dusty ground beneath her. Bitter myrrh
slowly veils the air, smoldering scent swathing
the child, dismally unaware, with glory, glory.
Hallelujah rises from the womb underneath,
eager groans borne of Earth’s swollen girth.
The trees toss their heads and the grasses clap
their hands and gold dust hugs her alabaster skin
so closely. Soft and unknowing, this little girl
enveloped in glorious halation, conceives
dreams of a day she will dance over fields.
written Fall 2014