Purgation

How should the mortal bush
Be like a Seraph?
Only the terrible Mercy
Makes it so,
The ineluctable call of the
Holy
Holy,
Holy,
All-devouring Moth.

From the jar which never runs dry.
The poured out oil of gladness
(My only safeguard, also
My greatest fear)
Slowly seeps up the reluctant,
Untrimmed and fearful wick.

I fear the refining fire that casts out fear,
Which saints have called the Living Flame of Love.

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