Ave Maria

The blood stopped flowing

After the dream of angels

And all her promises of

Essene purity will be for 

Naught and worse than

Naught in the eyes of a

Judging censorious world.

Ave Maria

Gratia plena

Maria, gratia plena 

Maria, gratia plena

She had told him, the 

Elder who would have her

Hand without the promise

Of children to honor his

White-haired age or

Posterity or the promise

Of a future grown from

Their common seed sown.

That by the imagined

Grace of a dream-angel

Heralding her courses

Stopped, blooming

Impossibly

Told him all she 

Could offer, the 

Shameful pregnant

Virginal liar befoe the eyes

Of a doubting dubious world.

Growing within her

A new world burning

Every vein afire with

Impossible possibilities

The infinite encompassed

By her fragile human

Mortal womb stretching

Pains upon pains

The walls of the 

Unknowing world within

Her small feeble frame

The ramparts of all

That is and was and

Will be held within her

Flesh straining to hold

All of creation creating

Itself within her 

Created finite self

Infinities distilling into

A tincture of grace

The universe drawn out

Like a camel through

Like a fat man through

Like the world through

The eye of a needle.

And she will be the

Needle-eye of 

A world birthing itself

Into the world existent

And every worlds possibility

By her womb redeemed.

And the angel had told

Her of the myths and

Fantasies to be

The ramparts of legends

To sanctify her frail

Human self by 

Generations of monks

And bookish scholars

And celibate judgmental

Saintly men bound to

Justify her soon to be

Sacred generation as if

There was no blood in

Birth or blood in the

Veins of that which

Was wailing to be 

Born, born in mortal

Fallen flesh.

Ave, ave dominus

Dominus tecum

Benedicta tu in mulieribus

Et benedictus

Et benedictus fructus ventris

Ventris tuae, Jesus

Ave Maria

Immaculate!  Without

Sin or scar or 

Any of the taint

That any daughter of

Eve might carry within

Her moon-caught

Earth-born womanly

worldliness and want.

But what could be the

Point of a divine

Birth without flesh

Or blood or pain or

All the faults of 

Eve-knowing and

Cain's-marked 

Man and woman

Enjoined and born and

Bred.  And she had

Indeed been born and

Bred and descended from

Ten thousand generations

Of quarreling bitter 

Bastards and harridans

And selfish, squabbling

Vicious people, chosen

Or not, pious or not,

Blasphemers, murderers

Whores and whoremongers

Thieves and slavers

Slaves and sinners.

A daughter of Eve was she

Daughter in turn of a son of

Cain, no matter how the 

Stories invented notional

Seth to distance the

Laity from the direct and

Proper conclusion that

They all were born of that

Line that lived, and not that

Of childless simple 

Blameless Abel.

Ave Maria

Mater Dei

Ora pro nobis peccatoribus

Ora pro nobis

Ora, ora pro n obis peccatoribus

The birth was upon them

And she could feel the

Curse of Eve in her

Agony, and worse, could

Feel the infinite agony of

Which her horrible straining

Separation was but a

Distant and mercifully

Shallow echo

The birth-pains of a

Universe opening its

Human eyes for the

First time, and His

First Cry cracking

The firmament like a

Miscast bell struck by

A hammer too hard and

Sharp for the frail

Metal cast by a 

Smith too unsure of

His material and the

Purposes intended.

Infinity compressed

Within one small wailing

Infant and that wailing

Will echo across the

Whole of creation from

The first crack of 

Dawn to the last

Clang fading on

That final, lifeless

Worthless rock. 

Every mother brings

Into the world two

Things: one life and

One death and all

That lies in between

Is out of her hands but

Still her gift given

And Eve bore a Cain

And Eve bore her Abel

And she bore the 

Burden of both

And she?  The new

Born mother, what

Burden for bringing the

Death of God into

A world split asunder

By the birth of that

Which could not be

Contained by that

Which nonetheless

Yet contained it?

The Church which

Was to come would

Remember and sanctify

That death as a

Passion, ritual upon

Ritual, play upon

Play, signifying the

Corn-god triviality of

A man's tortured 

Death as if death

Were something of

Note in our fallen

Failing world, when

All around them death

And pain and misery

March in endless

Serried ranks like

The hosts of hell

On the double-step.

Nuct et in hora mortis

Et in hora mortis nostrae

Et in hora mortis nostrae

Et in Hora mortis nostrae

Ave Maria

For the mother of

The infinite suddenly

And impossibly

Finite the one and

Only - horrible and 

Comprehensive and

Terrible - miracle was

Always

And always will be

That awful birth

Now and forever

The scream of 

Everything 

Aborning

World without end.

November 22, 2014