How she stained the shirt of ripping

flagellum shame and fear.

A rock was not a rock,

though she picked it up,

though she skipped it through

an unimaginable nothing.

No description,

no study,

for “God made it”

and how could she inquire

into His mysteries?

Then came the method,

scientific thought,

an open mind,

a guarded heart.

Was she corrupted?

Or was this liberty?

She found true touch.

She knew grace

in nature,

flesh,

pure,

uncomplicated.

Yes, it is what it seems.

The ground exists,

as does the firmament.

Enveloping scars,

unhealed wounds

dissolved in oxygen-laden

warmth.

A sun without interest;

a sky without fear.

A new chapter,

regaining innocence,

a joy unknown,

to the core,

the molten center

of churning freedom,

of knowledge unearthed,

of absolute love.