For the feast of the Immaculate Conception, but a day late.

The sun in all its glory,
the moon that glows and fades:
This is your mercy toward me
that fills my nights and days,
the very earth that holds me,
the waters running down,
and every word you've told me,
all woven as a crown.

My body like my mother's, 
the blood within my veins,
the heart that skips and flutters,
the breath that won't remain:
They hear your whisper call me,
your angel speak my name.
Your shadow falls upon me;
I cannot stay the same.

Now you have turned me over,
have raised me from the dust
and built yourself a tower,
a body from my rust.
And all my world is shaken,
the high stars toppled down,
when in my flesh you quicken
and in my waters drown.

Your name is no less holy
hung on an infant's arms:
the mighty one made lowly
to fill the empty heart.
Your promise you remembered
though long the years have been,
and all creation trembles
now you have called it kin.