Mary of Nazareth
It was like music:
Hovering and floating there
With the sound of lutes and timbrels
In the night air.
It was like waves,
Beating upon the dhore:
Insistent with a rhythm, a pulsing
Unfelt before.

It was like wind:
Blowing from off the seas
Of other, far other
Lands than these.

It was like wings,
Like whirring wings that fly
The song of an army of swans
On the dark sky.

It was like God:
A presence of blinding ligjt,
Ravishing body and soul
In the Spring night.