At daybreak, I caught
a glimpse through the windows of a life not
my own. Spring in her steps, she weathered
wantings, full of grace.
Bearing a word, an unwritten memoir
was left of her, cloistered, undisclosed
to the world. Stripped,
grey-barred, black and white striped, habit-
of fabric fragments. Wrinkled, hard-pressed,
unsure whether she made of the matter
what matters. Holy
maker, I met her in leadlight windows
so whole they could swallow me. Follow her
at your own risk, lose
your life. Or maybe give it up, gaping
at the glory. A greeting unlike any
we have ever known.
That winter, light was blooming royal blue,
angelic, silent as the morning snow.
I still consider windows as those were,
stained. Her warm breath desire, rising as
fire, first born of the Holy Spirit: free.