Promise

By Joyce Kohler

A crystal prism flashes to life

In the fragrant chalice

Of a lily

As the tender blush of morning

Swells along the hills.

The lark flings her praise

Into the tremulous air.

In the branch of an olive tree

The spider weaves a banner of jubilee.

A weeping woman sees and hears none of these,

So black is her grief.

The robes of the gardener brushing against the herbs

Release their sweet incense where he walks.

His voice is a benediction.

“Mary.”