Says some angel to one Mary or another—

Christian Century, April 18, 2001 by Jill Alexander Essbaum

   Not in the garden, not in the tomb,
   not in the old shoe. Not in the furnace,
   its resonance and heat. The telephone's signature
   ring is silent now, no voice to arouse the tenor
   and tremble of sweeter dreams. The rosebuds have
   a clean finger to their lips--hush. He's not in the second hand,
   which ticks upon itself. Hush--he's not in the second chance,
   that old hope which stumbles like nomads on the Reed Sea.
   Indeed, the cellar door is locked and nothing sweet inside
   but the perverse perseverance of jelly jars, red, wet cherries
   from a spinster's finest branch. Taste and see: he's not
   in the swallow, the tongue or the teeth. No one such as you
   desire, here today. Oh Lady, look to Otherwise, turn to Oz or
   Elsewhere, juncture of M and 12 on a fantasied map. The he you
   seek might shroud out upon an island for years and songs,
   under the perils of a kiss beneath an uncharted chain
   Or, open your palm to cradle something small and dear.
   Perhaps he's there.