XIII
ROSE

Like a rose from the wild bramble bush
with five white petals, your body
is the flower of creation; your heart,
a bloody calyx where you separate
whey from the cream of life.
Your calyx was filled with sorrow, a cup
of fathomless anguish that a human heart
cannot contain; from you, divine Master
of sorrow, we learned of sorrows
that give hope. You felt sorrows
that would kill a man; by suffering like this
you killed our fears. And for the pain
of becoming a Man we love you as brothers,
and we also love our common Father
because of your sorrow, oh Master of Sorrows!
Because your divinity is our guide.

Like a rose from the wild bramble bush
—a bramble is your cross, a bed of thorns—
your body is white and has five petals;
like the rose of the burning bush on the           Exodus 3: 14.
mountain of God that was not consumed,
a flower of flame among the brambles,
the white fire of never-ending love.
And in You, flame of love, flowering bush,
your father says to us, as he said to Moses,
“I am who I am!” But the calyx           3 Kings 19:11-13.
of the rose, like your mouth,
is a honeycomb where souls gather
like bees to sip; your mouth filled
with wildflowers (parables
which touch the heart) has now closed
during the cold night, and your two lips
are like another wound; like the bloody
mouth, which longs to kiss and speak
of love, that has opened in your side
next to your heart. Both your mouths
which long for love are now silent;
the tongue in one, the heart in the other,
they are exhausted by loving so much.

From your mouth came the sayings
which were filled with fire and freshness;
from your mouth the Sermon on the Mount
laid down the eternal law of eternal love;
the prayer from your mouth consoles
the sorrow of being born in order to die.