You bleed blue for Mary on her bed of roses,
Her soft nose snuffing the pallid air of the holy ghost
And her post partum purpose for the once uttering
Of the ongoing and ever lasting word.

The baby sleeping in the crib of the future
Like the hold of a ship with precious cargo or
Just cars on the ferry, precious to someone.

The ballast of someone else's life
Has caused me to turn my head,
Sniffling as all the mammals who know
That real traces of blood and
More complex chemistry come through the nose,
The pollen sneeze and pine forest,
The woods now covered in deep snow
Still beg a smell like sticky sap.

She touches to her eyelid in a gesture of sorrow
Disguised as brushing a stray hair or bug
But we know someone is weeping for all of us,
Keeping score of the souls ascended and the marks
Like a fleeing bunny makes in the snow.
The lynx and lion have to eat too and on the night prowl
We shared a dream without realizing that each gesture,
Each kill is irreplaceable, unredeemed in all subsequent hungers,
Each awakening bright as her rising sun,
The dew, the tears, the water rushing to fall
From the cataract above to our outstretched and soaking hands
Trying to hold so much and not being able,
Negotiating each other and our minds and
Our soaked state of things.

By Rolf Stavig,           WWC 1/11/23