No Separation from the Holy
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The soul becomes disturbed when it returns
From ecstasy. Ask Saint Teresa or
Saint Francis. Spirit memory still burns
Like coals that touch the lips and leave them sore.
A wounding or a bruising or a scar
Is left behind more like an unhealed pain
Than like fulfillment. These are like a star
Collapsed upon itself, a core-depth stain
Inside the spirit that it cannot free
Itself from, not that it would want to yield
To coma. Marrows of the mind agree
To hold epiphanies devoutly sealed.
It is as if the soul abhors the thought
Of losing truth that first comes semen hot.
~ Phillip Whidden
