A journeyman's hands

A journeyman’s hands                                                                                       

Francis said as stone into dust –

long to be crushed! 

The duty of the lover is to sing

his Beloved’s gift of song; 

articulate the pain in the distance

between mouth and Ear;

between heart and Heart

solely for the Beloved’s

amusement and entertainment.

Sing, o lover!  a reminder of the day,

when you’ll bear no song,

no mouth and no need of one –

being, at last, the unutterable Truth.

That’s the promise Francis clutched

in a journeyman’s hands;

sang with wine-bright eyes

through an old man’s broken throat –

a gift for his Beloved and for His lovers

gathered near and soon to follow

that bowed, dusty codger into oblivion.

O child of God, begin your apprenticeship as a lover

under that old Aussie ploughman stone mason poet.