sister miriams poem
now a dark matter
our perfumed space
polished with light
a woman combing her long hair
beyond existence
beyond our coming and going
where his sandals were
a scent lingering from compassion
the blast of crude nails
cannot change this
the old sister will tell you
martha did her part
she expects you to get the point
figures you are as wise as she is
she will be wrong of course
© John Knoepfle 2004
