“Hope is the thing,” she said,
that one thing most real for one who looks.
Her lips, so full in Heaven’s unmeasured smile,
speak outward still to a land more rich for the kiss.
“He ate and drank the precious words,” she intones –
a wiser breath slicing through the caustic
din of monoxidic madness. Someone sees
what, in its dim appearing, shows itself bright.
“If I can stop one heart from breaking,” we hear
her moan, the pained and paining alike her cast.
Though hell would be her suitor, more suited
to Heaven the language of this child.
Let us then lean into the dawning day, delight
our closest friend and, as she might urge us,
look East where all is birthing and good is free.
For “none can avoid this purple.”
Image found here