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by Mary Lambert
I wish I could cry, opening stoked fury
to tears that dissolve and heal its misshapen
womb of pain.

Water can mentor the gore of centuries to
new promontories, resurrecting the cross,
healing the wound where spirit and matter

That cross, at sunset, shows the way through
the dark toward waterfalls of sheer presence,
the quality of which is the gift of tears.

To release that lock and move the rock
from the tomb toward the dawn of realization
is the earthen crucible to the white-robed

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Copyright © 1996 by Mary Lambert. All rights reserved.