Bells pealed for Our Lady of the Myrtles
with the flame-seared face, and close
in her embrace the cindered Child; doves
cooed in the lemon tree and hovered near
the curtain-lace; their soft wings flickered
in your gaze the morning you were born.
Fishermen were bringing home their haul,
cleaving the silver dawn, their ketches
like a heartbeat in the bay; and skeins
of gulls cried in the wake, and outbound
ferry sirens wailed, saluting you
the morning you were born.
These are your talismans: carillons
and the lemon tree, the chiming doves,
the homing caique, wings sweeping
the morning sea: the dark Madonna's
gentle face, like love and fire,
a mystery...
Note: Our Lady of the Myrtles (Panaghia Myrtidiotissa) is an ikon that takes its name from a monastery on the island of Kithira (Greece) which was destroyed by fire. Although blackened by the flames, the ikon did not perish. The feast-day of the Panaghia Myrtidiotissa is in September.