Monday, December 18, 2017

Pumpkin stone

Pumpkin stone            

Lord, when will I ripen, ready
to enroll in that course of liberation,

filled with wine but drained of blood?  When
will I quit this sad rummaging and oscillation,

crack the looking glass and scatter the shards;
settle fixedly (like that famous pumpkin stone)   

outside the door of my Lord’s charnel house,
(which was once, apparently, a noted tavern)

to long desperately, like Francis before me,
to be crushed into singing dust 

by the Master’s hand and hammer;
strewn along Love Street (under His feet),

to rise and dance only at His passing by;
to cling lightly then to His skirt and sandals

and be carried inside the great manor,
courtyard and darbar of the Beloved?

Lord, when will I ripen?
When will I be ready? 

O child of God, surrender (also like Francis)
your impatience to the whim of His immaculate timing.

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