Under the song-dark noon,
He turned and saw her face
shaped by the wind of His sorrow.

No word crossed the dust between them,
only the low tide of her gaze,
bearing Him back to the shore of His beginnings.

Yet in the press of bodies
she stood as woman stands,
stone in her breast,
the cry held down like water in a well.

And through that silence,
something of Heaven trembled,
burning again in her womb.
and He met not only the mother,
nor only the woman,
but the hallowed ark of God.