Lord, the angels you sent are here now, beating their wings above
my head.
I cling to them by a thread of blood, but I’m afraid the thread
will break.
And plunged as they are in darkness I still can’t see them, but I
believe they are many, and some are beautiful and deserve to live.
Look, Lord. I can’t feed them all with this meager blood of
mine, and I don’t want them to die, like a mother who fears losing the
child in her womb—although she may have never wanted him before and he might
be the fruit of her labor after—I don’t want a single one to die.
Lord, give me a star to nurse these children of mother in decline.
And since I’ve forgotten how to sew, give me, just for them, the raiment of the lilies.
I From Absolute Solitude
I believe they are many, and some are beautiful and deserve to live.