Looking for something else, I found this old and incomplete poem from the time of one Mary phase (some months before the shrine visit.) Strangely resonant (but just a little...Mary plus subway.)
The Mary nearest Nassau,
by a wet and stagnant fountain shadowed,
open handed, parts
her cast-stone cloak. Saying:
holding nothing I divide,
as if a sea,
the material all of matter. Saying:
let no obscurant tear
your soul from heaven.
Yes. Very near the ham-hazed coffee shop,
where starlings nest in vinyl
siding seams, (some fledglings end
pop-eyed, yellow beaked and
dead on hard ground) is Mary
in her downward gaze, her lap
of rock by mounded palms is framed.
The thenar eminence, a Venus
mount, muscling the thumb,
stirs the radius around, opens arms.
We’re pressed against the cold
walls of our train car, my daughter
tracks our black racketing passage.
Today we spill out backwards like wet litter mates,
quickly steadied by invisible and air.
