not what you think you hear
but what you know you do
from the Lord God
in quiet midnights
or before dawn long before
dawn comes
or the striking of clocks from memory
what is whispered
from the long rays of stars
beyond history and the concentrated drip of honey
from the moon on the other side of the building
where you never can see it
from the clouds that disappear into
mystical darkness
that holds still
despite the world’s news
a silence that reassures
a faith that lingers
even about your low ceiling
a kind of heaven
though it’s not painted like the Sistine.
a keenness in the chill that penetrates
the cracks in the window frame
and sings.
mary angela douglas 17 october 2023
No comments:
Post a Comment