The Diary of Mary Magdalene: Poems from Christ's Wife

Ghost of a Rose

And I am haunted by the perfume of lilies, ephemeral

pollen kissing my nose as the Lion of Judah licks my

mouth, staving off hunger for his heart, Faithful and

True, the lily does not question his beauty, just white

hair and sword like stamen emanating forth like glory!

And Solomon in all his glory was like no flower, neither

arrayed in nectar of the blossom of God, simply king, but

you are king of kings, and your steed in a leaf, your word

the Logos was a seed, in the Beginning was a white flower.

He thirsted for rain, he grew in toil, but troubles did not

touch his manifold form in the Gates of Lebanon, scent

the sweetness of summer storms, of fall divine, of winter's

secret birth to the Savior, white lily, white of eyes, white

is the color of his robes, and in the haunting of the Son,

the sun rises over me, and his lips are lilies, dripping

liquid myrrh, oh my Song, oh my Savior, amongst the

brambles we caress, and my interior castle is adamant,

but there is a garden there, and you are the most fragrant

bloom, a prince among roses, unending glory, flowers

grant power upon the hour, reason upon the season,

rhyme amongst time! Oh lily of the valley, oh sweet

calla, oh divine tiger, oh King in bloom, grace me with

the perfume of the Lord. You neither toil nor spin,

just

grow.

And in that, I find eternity. Your moonchild, thick with fruit.