Abandonment’s Magnificat
A beauty gone is never gone. It goes
Down deep in memory. It does not turn
To boredom and it never turns to prose.
True beauty is like branding irons that burn
The hips because of him or her but more
Like him because of what he did between
Them and inside. It leaves you like a whore
Forsaken calmly, leaving you as clean
As if it had not stained you vast and wide.
The Virgin Mary knew that feeling fetched
Up in her innards, feeling Spirit slide
Up towards her heart. No matter how she retched,
The beauty glistened up above her womb
But more within it. Beauty was her groom.