The Seeing Glass

A cord of three strands,
You, me, the Word.
A gilded braid of furrowed infinity
Knit in Love,
Bound by Spirit and Light.

A weaving of silken roads,
You, me, the Word.
On journeys with stones and crosses,
Broken on myths
And inventions of pious hearts.

Our mortal feet stumble
To find the immutable way,
Always there,
Yet concealed by generations
Of odium and dread.

In lieu of a map
We find instead, a mirror
On the inside of you and me: the Word.
Then, like earthshine
We begin to see.

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