RAISSA MARITAIN

Raissa,
needing again to hear your voice
at Repunzel's suffering places
during the Second World war,
Raissa gathering words
as a tribulation rises as incense
from a high tower,
Raissa like Repunzel
letting down her hair
to an enraged earth,
but I am by the French mountains
of resistance
to listen by the ashes
at a philosopher's stone,
your voice from sacred wells
of pure language still lives
on the green laurel foliage
between a few grave petals,
if you ask me
life is always double crossed
by agape love.