Author: Tim
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Even the Firs Glance Up
.Geese form lines in a grey February sky. The sky is the color of a goose feather. Pools in the fields are the color of a goose feather. Last year’s corn is stubbled at the edges of pools. The geese can read the signs. From a thousand feet up their lines etch deep into the…
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Advent Retreat, Gethsemani Abbey
At first you force your silence, then it smothers all your verbs and burrows to the inner edge of words. At first you force your silence. Soon it ponds the stream of thoughts. Like rocking sleeps the child. At first you force. Then pianissimo envelopes even boots. So let legato breed legato, then, but note…
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And Smoothed, the Cicatrix
Now God has stripped His cutting garden bare to color tables for His wedding day. His bachelor and somber rooms now flare with you, my dear, now strong and gay. And what it cost to say The seep of blood is dried, The retina, aroused by light And smoothed, the cicatrix. It’s good that you…
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And Then Go Out
Among Dominicans at evening in Milan we raise a hymn to Leonardo then go out to drink among the buried saints and then go out to drink goodbye to hymns. It is the morning of a world and evening too.
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And The Bird On The Wing
Though swallows promenade about the barn in shaker reels, I track them each by each to guess their names and grandma’s names and memorize their iridescent oddities of feathers. Top, they wear the sober gray of Oxford dons, but underneath they flash like dancehall tarts. It is a country pomp. I’ve brought you here to…
