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Holy Mary, you may take your leave, for without you
we are full of grace (and more common every day).
The Lord, who curried our favor, is no longer with us
(emptying us of light, expelling us from sound). You,
blessed mother (nailed to drywall), are not alone
among women & men who prey in darkness. Bitter
is the blessed fruit of thy womb (sweeter is the fruit
of our plight). Holy Mary, I think I’m a mother.
We pray that in the absence of a reasonable God
we may suspend ourselves aloft by bees. We’ll swim
in our own milk & honey, for there is no sin now
or at the hour of our death. (Amen.)
Doxology for the rest of us
Alexandra Reisner
S. R. Aichinger