Our Lady of Acid Rain

Our Lady of Acid Rain

With the lime of her body

sweetening the forest floor

in ecstatic effacement,

this plaster Virgin melts earthward,

the body of a woman imagined

free from corruption, safe in heaven,

her virtue like a stored cask.

Mold now greens the bulk of her,

taking her back, once all-white,

church-pure, immaculate.

Blurred, eroded by the sour tears

of an exhausted sky, her face

like ours someday.

A half-teepee of stone slabs shelters her

on a spur off the main trail.

Clearly others have found her,

depositing evidence of devotion—

various seashells, a candle

that spattered the rock with wax,

a rosary, a perfect red maple leaf,

pine cones, coins.