At the Center of Concentric Stars, Each of Equal Weight

The helplessness of love that moves the earth,

The sea and stars is never lonely.  Love’s

Plight always spreads through Three.  Eternal worth

Is One, is Theirs, is Three.  It is the Dove’s,

The Father’s and the Son’s.  The suffering far

Below strikes straight through each of them as One,

As One in agony as if the scar

In palm, and arch and torso is a sun

Of sun-pith pain, a sun distended like

An endless, headless, tail-less comet stretched

Unendingly, a crucifixion spike

Of blast across three hearts and on them etched.

  Since they as One knew all of this before

    It happened, happens, they know death’s harsh core.