Glisten (Metaphysicals XVIII)

She stands
on her hill’s height
sure to cause sensation
a cinematic wind
sweeps her hair back
like a declaration echoing
shore to shore
though you’ve chosen
her & want to make
her glisten
At her mirror
in the half-light of her hall
she studies her complexion
Does she see what
must be washed away?
She’s so slow to listen
it would be easy to
dismiss her
Show me
dear Christ your bride
flawless bright & clear
Let me see you kiss her

Photo by Peter Herrmann on Unsplash