Circles within circles
Hours come round
The holy woman seated upon the moon gives birth
And her child is borne away by an angel
From the clutches of the dragon
She points to them both
And becomes a turning point
Later the battle is fought
Between the angels and the beast
But it is the last battle that there shall ever be
Everything is weightless and falling
In this post-sacrificial world and what we once knew about distance
Is lost
The woman sits in the sun that is a mandala
Its tongues of flame emanations of her
And she sits in the majesty of birth
The long shadow of the sky
That is her own
With the moon lying on a tightrope just above the earth
The warrior angel’s armour is like feathers
His crusader’s cross
Wrapped around him like a sling
Still they go on
With the battle and the birth
The beginning of good
And the end of evil
Beneath him there is still Earth
Covered with grass and flowers
But it is all made of waves like the sea
Sculpted with a thick brush
All made of circles
The compasses of the cosmos
The fragile and the sacred
The one moment to look outside the world
by Sophia Nugent-Siegal ©
[1] Cambridge, Trinity College, MSB. 10. 2, fols. 21v-22