The Maries shiver in the heat
Whose wreathed orchids curl and die;
Under the white and burning sky
My shadow fades beneath my feet
To where my morning Child lies drowned
And cancelled all his drafted towers.
Out of the noon I bring him flowers
Which wither on the burning ground.

But in these narrow lanes of loss
My ritual hand is all that bears
Remembrance of his blood and bone
And prays a pale and alien cross
For my deficiency of tears
To reconcile the blinded stone

by Cécile Parrish
from Poems (1966)