Save—save—save this imprint of every passing memory with stars marking one idea after another.
No page of your Scriptures shall be forgotten.
You are like a star shining over the cosmos with miracles, holy mother of mine.
And so I sing a hymn of praise with you, the one presented in the temple of God, during this great feast.
There we will offer gifts in a double portion.
There, in the garden, we will walk together and receive food from the hand of an angel.
There, at the mountain of God, a mother and her child are received.
And if we cannot ascend this Mount together, let it split in two and take us down to hide us, and shine its light upon us, turning holy blood to stone around us.
Favor is with those who fear our Lord, to whom be glory into the ages—of ages—of Ages.