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.