Mary Magdalene Dreams of Words She Will One Day Write in the Snow

By Ken Woodley

Every pore 

yearns for starlight

to flicker in the darkness 

of my solitude.

I am frozen by suns of mourning,

praying only to melt 

into your earth

and that place 

where the ice of this despair

cannot find me,

where I could still feel child-painted,

as you showed me,

and see the living colors 

so outrageously miraculous

and snowing all around me

like a shimmering aurora borealis 

wind-blown from the sky

so that I can

melt

again and again and again

into your footsteps,

to follow

and perhaps one day

to bloom, somehow,

with you

in the eternal gardens.

By Ken Woodley



Every pore

yearns for starlight

to flicker in the darkness

of my solitude.

I am frozen by suns of mourning,

praying only to melt

into your earth

and that place

where the ice of this despair

cannot find me,

where I could still feel child-painted,

as you showed me,

and see the living colors

so outrageously miraculous

and snowing all around me

like a shimmering aurora borealis

wind-blown from the sky

so that I can

melt

again and again and again

into your footsteps,

to follow

and perhaps one day

to bloom, somehow,

with you.

in the eternal gardens.