It was all so bright--
All the futures they said were hers;
Their wind of words stung her eyes,
Our shivering patron of the blind.
No rivers flow here--
No tides, just the cold-cracked moon
Too distant to conjure a saving madness
For Our Lady of Frozen Tears.
In your crystal dream of lovers--
A sky full of wavering willows
Bends over you like a mother.
It was all so lonely--
Not lessened by the dragging cautions
They hauled like sledges of endless noon
Above Our Lady of the Morning.
Ice shimmered across the floes,
Wrapped ad infinitum in ivory blank;
Blood came to seem better than the emptiness
Which afflicted Our Lady of the Snows.
And all a crystal dream supposes,
Will carry you where the willows grow--
Our Lady of the Roses.