Struck from the horse whose reins I held,
his arms embraced the light.
Old man and boys at cards, a finger
like a spear, accusing, electing
flight to an imagined garden.
From the first moment of creation,
condensing like rain on the ocean,
inescapably choice has bent the will
to prosper. The Magdalene, seeing the star
in her mirror, felt the promised ecstasy
ravage her heart. The scandal lay
in sharing with Martha her knowledge
that the boy who modeled now
the Baptist served also as Bacchus.
The angel whispering in the ear
directed the fall of the knife.
In oriental exile, each note registers
a perfection of mother and child.
The fathers face expresses concern
for discipline, all too easy for angels,
all too immediate when the psalmist
displayed my head, triumphant. Do
human brothers hear my cry for mercy?