Holy Mother

A piece of heaven is in her eyes.
Look, there's more in her lips, in her hands, in her heart.
Each piece has jagged ends,
Each piece draws blood from her veins.
It hurts, she says.
It hurts, she cries, as she embraces them closer.
A piece of heaven is logged deep in her, can you see?
Even the tears she sheds bear the same color.
The tracks of her finger, wet, cold, iron--so pretty.
She speaks like an angel.
She sings the tune of a holy mother.
She forgives all, she loves all.
My piece of heaven, did she bring it with her?