Sylvia Sharpentier

[51] A young man, wearing nothing but a linen garment, was following Jesus. When they seized him, 
[52] he fled naked, leaving his garment behind

In earnest on fleeing naked,
The hot feet of Cain roaming the earth with a vigil of Virgil
Where art thou, where art thou? Who told you that you were naked?
The pure daffodils, forensically enigmatic is the strength of roots that run
The Sin stalks like a murderer, you ancient Sinite, as it eyes on your nakedness 
The second Judah me mine who ran off the garment of Grace
A shallow race, a deep disgrace in a fearful displace

Humanity is running from justice like a wind on the heat
The garment hides wounds, my informalities at the Wedding
The totality in primogeniture, and the head-body oneness 
Ought we the holy body to suffer in union with the Christ 
In a long and fervent patience, throughout the day of life
To shine bloody on the hill like the Star of Bethlehem
The Church to shine like a splendid city on the hill
Its everlasting light to the night of death
Until the day to come when
Our wounds are covered by the new linen,
And on that day, at the edge of the precipice
We shall stop the press and behold the glory of beatific ingress



[TBD]