Saturday, November 1, 2014

An emphatic breach

An emphatic breach                                                                                

In the pouring rain, the old man said,
I do not get wet and one day,

not as theory or concept
but, in a clear, emphatic breach,

I answered, of course, of course.
Somewhere from a dry, rustling field

where he stood and spoke,
the words reached me

over thirty years but more –
over centuries and continents,

oceans and dynasties –
a crack of the door,

the stones of the temple
and the lush gardens behind the walls;

the crumbling old myths.
The earth shook, dislodged a stone,

the shift of an ancient foundation
upon which everything I am

and seem to be, everything
I know and seem to know, rests.

O child of God, the flowers of the garden
unfold strictly according to God’s schedule.

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