I saw the face of Marguerite Porete, The mystic who beheld Divinity. It might have been a dream, or better yet, A vision only Seeing Eyes might see.
I wondered if she chose to thus appear To show herself, to let herself be known. I wondered if Divinity was near, Or if her soul had vanished on its own.
Her gaze, a mirror burning yet serene, Reveals a love that law cannot restrain. A fire that stirs both absence and what's seen, A silence singing through both loss and gain.
And in that face I glimpse the soul’s free flight, A deathless life that shines beyond all night.
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