Poem: Rachmaninov, “Hail Mary”

Rachmaninov, “Hail Mary.”

The ecstasy of pleading,
a pattern of confusion?
Only the release is determined.
Our self-absolution:
The Cricket chirps aloud,
all know its place.
The Flower seems refreshed,
dew drops to roots invisible.
Where is the suffering servant?
Even – especially – for Him,
there is a joy in fatal assertion:
hora mortis nostrae.

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