The Bride of Christ.

She is bent, and twisted,
a crone's wretched frame in dazzling white.

Her red hands drip
dusting rose and smearing crimson.

Baptised in wine -
clinging to a shepherd's crook - she steps out to meet her Love.

He is fair as a thunderstorm
with eyes so kind and ancient that she forgets herself
and smiles.

Cracked-blackened teeth
transformed
in those eyes.

He reaches for her foul hand
places it to His lips
and breathes her name.

She cries
and in her unveiled tears,
transforms.

Her tears dry;
she twirls,
she dances, and she laughs.

Finally.
At long last:
she has come home.