The candles burn all night, the fumes from the flames
darken her face, her eyes and skin.
The living see her in flashes of light but it is rare.
The dead are often surprised by her power,
her gravitational pull.
More will come, more will rise from their beds,
riding on ocean waves,
riding on clouds blown from the other side
of the known world.
Many are startled by her love.
She was once just a rumor, a fairy tale
told to children in nursery school.
The candles burn all night, the fumes from the flames
darken her face, her eyes and skin.
More will come, more will rise from their beds.
THE CANTICLE OF THE SUN.
Praise be to Thee, my Lord, with all Thy creatures,
Especially to my worshipful brother sun,
The which lights up the day, and through him dost Thou brightness give;
And beautiful is he and radiant with splendor great;
Of Thee, most High, signification gives.
Praised be my Lord, for sister moon and for the stars,
In heaven Thou hast formed them clear and precious and fair. p. 153
Praised be my Lord for brother wind
And for the air and clouds and fair and every kind of weather,
By the which Thou givest to Thy creatures nourishment.
Praised be my Lord for sister water,
The which is greatly helpful and humble and precious and pure.
Praised be my Lord for brother fire,
By the which Thou lightest up the dark.
And fair is he and gay and mighty and strong.
Praised be my Lord for our sister, mother earth,
The which sustains and keeps us
And brings forth diverse fruits with grass and flowers bright.
Praised be my Lord for those who for Thy love forgive
And weakness bear and tribulation.
Blessed those who shall in peace endure,
For by Thee, most High, shall they be crowned.
Praised be my Lord for our sister, the bodily death,
From the which no living man can flee.
Woe to them who die in mortal sin;
Blessed those who shall find themselves in Thy most holy will,
For the second death shall do them no ill.
Praise ye and bless ye my Lord, and give Him thanks,
And be subject unto Him with great humility.
The Woman in Dark Clothes
(for Edith Stein)
She adored Husserl, the depths of his thought.
But philosophy was not enough for her.
She became a student of love.
We breathe in the ashes of those burned
in the ovens of Auschwitz.
Flowers bloom out of the dust.
She walks with us in the darkness.
She is familiar with it.
She knows the way out.
They were not aliens from another planet.
They put their human faces on just like us
before they dropped Zyklon B in a hole
in the roof and waited for the bodies to fall.
That they shared in our common humanity
somehow made monsters of us all.
But why should we feel responsible
for their crimes,
when we barely recognize our own?
But the stain remains just the same.
It will take all of human history to recover
from that loss.
We breathe in the ashes of those burned
in the ovens of Auschwitz.
Flowers bloom out of the dust.
She walks with us in the darkness.
She is familiar with it.
She knows the way out.
