The Magdalene had countless lovers
and never sinned
because she was true to the One
whose tomb was in the garden
between her breasts.
As the planter takes up the hoe
and the minstrel his lyre,
the guest at the wedding an empty cup
when the wine steward approaches,
as Shyama lifts to his lips
the hollow flute to fill with breath,
so let your soul take up the fine
tuned instrument of your body
with its seven flowering silences.
You must become the music
you long to hear.
Mary Magdalene by Carlo Sellitto, 1610