PoetryEtc Featured Poet: Liz Kirby

Stella Maris

He stands over death -
the watery girl.
A way through sadness
with swinging incense.

The veins track his muscles,
the form of a cross to drive out tears.
Though he said to us 'children'
we knew we must not

fall into desperation.
We can not hold out. We sweat
under the candelabra of algae
the grey water over our heads

is rancid and heaves.
We cry out to the Madonna
of the waters, to the lost child
beloved of the waters, who strains

dead night through her hands.
But the girl has turned liquid
under the ice he stands on.