The Visitation

O most beautiful among women . . .
who am I
that the mother of my Lord should come to me?
You, whom I love without reservation . . .
 
If my heart were a garden
your presence would live within me
like a lily among thorns . . .
 
If my soul were a mountain
your voice would echo through me
within the secret recesses
of the cliffs and canyons . . .
 
but my heart is not a garden . . .
and my soul is not a mountain . . .
 
As the day breaths cool and shadows lengthen
I wait for you . . .
quietly . . .
mother of a carpenter . . .
for you will come, my perfect one . . .
as you always come . . .
to embrace me like the dawn . . .
to bathe me and shelter me
in the light of your nurturing love . . .
as immaculate as the moon . . .
as resplendent as the sun . . .
 
Deep waters cannot quench my love,
nor floods sweep it away . . .
for you are all beautiful, my beloved mother.
In you there is no blemish.