John beseeches her

Don’t lower the wave of my heart,
it swells to your eyes, mother;
don’t alter love, but bring the wave to me
in your translucent hands.
He asked for this.
I am John the fisherman. There isn
t much
in me to love.
I feel I am still on that lake shore,
gravel crunching under my feet–
and, suddenly–Him.
You will embrace his mystery in me no more,
yet quietly I spread round your thoughts like myrtle.
And calling you Mother–His wish–
I beseech you: may this word
never grow less for you.
True, it
s not easy to measure the meaning
of the words he breathed into us both
so that all earlier love in those words
should be concealed.