It’s thirteen billion years
since time became measureable.
For me it passed really quickly.
Mostly as a silent, black void
Sycamore carpenter, cedar builder,
I sense the line of wood, breathe its craft,
know its every whorl and knot.
You watch from your rocking chair,Continue reading →
In the beginning was the Word.
We waited stock still
to watch the sun
burst through the groove on the hill.
My father, a builder, loved angular lines,
the feel of a brick in his hand. Mud heavy boots
always stood on our doorstep; wheelbarrows,
hods, and spirit levels cluttered vans
We lie upon the grass on God’s good earth
and listen to the Requiem’s intense,
long, love-laden keening, calling forth
echoes of Eden, blessing every sense
How to weave sea & sky & gorse & rowan into words? Silver silver gold and old green magic of the holy tree whose murder brings ill luck. Its blood berries …Continue reading →
Magdalena’s fingers bustle, knitting
short-armed sweaters near
a storefront on Division Street.
WHORE, she barks through yellow teeth at women
Sudden from the unused church at noon
bursts a strangely urgent angelus.
One priestly function still persists
though delegated to electric motors:
At evensong, the sermon yoked forgiveness ·
and loneliness, using stories of a sinful woman ·
and a Samaritan at the well, ·
sparing us a topical allusion…
I checked the nails, three straight, one spare. ·
The hammer. The helmet. The spear. ·
Eased the hasp to allow jab and stab. ·
Stiffened like steel in the early morning starch.