The Poet to the Nun


Ávila, Spain

In my language, earth
is an anagram for heart

& angels glean

integrals & triangles

& lighted delight.

You left us a spirit castle,
crenelated with ecstasy.
Did you know
that chemists
have tried to capture
that bliss in a pill?
Strange transmutation.
Not unlike the goal
of those in your day
who tried to turn
lead to gold.

I crave your transverberation.
To be love-pierced,
to be transformed,
to live the madder alchemies
of communion
& desire.

Anna Elkins