Burial Oil

Make of me an anointing oil

To be pored into the wounds

That bore my name.


Who am I,

How do You count me

In Your universe?

I am nothing,

A wisp,

Mere smoke

Clouding Your heavens,

And yet,

You mount Your Cross

For me.


For me,

The nails pierce Holy Flesh,

For me, You are lifted,

And the Cross

Crashed with Your pain

Into the ground

Over the bones

Of my First Parents,

A skull, fittingly,

A remembrance of their fall,

And our perduring Fault.


My tears flow with Mary’s

My hair hides me

From hungry eyes,

That I might be for You,

Here in this place and time.


You thirst for me.

Now, may I satisfy You,

By willing our union,

And embracing

My death in yours.


Oil and comfort,

Comfort only

The dead can know,

To be shrouded away

Until the Day.