Cor Unum

Poetry
John Woolley


O lover, pierced with sorrow, crowned with shame,
deign here to be consoled, adored, caressed.
Hide here thy face, a living signet pressed
to willing wax; and I’ll, soft, whispering, claim
thee, veiled, my cherished own. Here slake thy flam-
ing thirst, thy wounded head here, cradled, rest,
safe on the flowery meadows of my breast.
Listen—my heart beats nothing but thy name.

Here, in this ardent ground, flower forth thy mys-
teries of crown, cross, chalice, thou blest mart-
yrs’ prince, and fire-wine-apple-incense kiss-
es shower on brow, throat, breast till we two part-
less die, rest, rise and dowered with boundless bliss
blooms, springs in both our breasts one rose, one heart.

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John Woolley is an Anglican Catholic deacon, father of five, husband of one, friend of dozens. He loves Latin, baseball, old jazz, backgammon, liturgy, Victorian novels, and (duh!) poetry. He can be reached at John.Woolley[at]wcom.com.

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