In the sixth month

I’m afraid that I, calm like a candle,
"Do not be afraid, Mary, am a fuse, a muffled firework,
that one day I’ll go off, his kingdom will never end
and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month
and peel the skin, the arms of all who huddled close—

I’m afraid that I, with the gospel on my lips,
We know that the whole creation has been groaning
as in the pains of childbirth
am a colonist, buckled with a rusty sword,
that one day I’ll arrive on pregnant shores Not only so,
but we ourselves groan inwardly
and when I leave there will be little more—
as we wait eagerly for our adoption,
the redemption of our bodies.

For in this hope we were saved." Then the angel left her.