Lily of the Field

My muse was once this white dress-
is now myself-
since strips and layers are torn off.

Time refines the bride
until she
naked as the day
she was born
dies,
reappears.

Still unblemished,
my scars are only skin deep
and I stand strong for the day
when Christ my King
washes me in a water
too strong
too heady
for this world.

In my darkness,
I am stark.
Seen as I once was:
A child of water waiting to be filled.