Echoes and Moments

The Pilgrim: Part I Howling wind gives way to gentle rustle: Pine needles and old bark sing to the coming night And the Great Silence greets my evening light, a  Single candle gleaming bright amidst the black without While these sinews twist into the posture of peace, I hear A knock, and wincing, I wait.  The heavy breaths shatter whatever prayer was mine Before this night: one of thousands upon this mountain Closed in by stone, by wood, by skin, flesh, and bone, A temple to perennial truth, each breath a new liturgy As wind drawn in swallows the dying world outside and Returns an exhale full of Light, simple, furious Love.  A second knock, and remembering Benedict, I  Turn the rusted iron and the heavy wood gives way A weary man staring with flint-grey eyes, hollow And streaked red with pain, there is perhaps a look of  Shock, as if he never knew the world could be so cruel and  Full of hate.  Commentary on Stanzas 1-3: The narrative introduced is a fam

The Last Cup We recline, The last bits of meat, figs, and dates roll around The bronze, the wood plates and cups - a testimony to Enemies made friends through the long journeys now Complete in this room, this upper place prepared By a Stranger. Take comfort in the smiles, the Laughter that will soon be forgotten, soon fleeing fast As you scatter into the night, frightened by Swords and clubs, the chains, the Whips and chords wrapping tight around My Bleeding arms and legs as I walk, Never to see My Face like this before you again. Conversation quiets, the chuckles hush, and Attention clings to me again like so many Afternoons before the crowds in my Galilee, these boys and men still fresh From lives lived among them who now Remain Outside it all. "Why is this Night distinct among all others?" They stare, and I lift this wheat, simple flour without yeast Fired in clay and baked for sustenance As it was in generations past. "Remember the Ni

I Am Tired (A Lament) I am tired; my eyes trace another stone Hurled from hateful hands, flying unhindered To crush my bones to powder, my blood to rivers Again the death I fear reminds me there Is a fool's hope for escape. I am tired; my nose fills with smoke As fingers fling matches burning Pillars of flame sear my hair to cinder And their snarling laughter purges This heretical body of its unholy love. I am tired; I stare into the rifle's barrel yet again, My eyes obscured from my neighbor's face Hidden behind a black helmet and plexiglass shield, The land their people stole filled with black smoke Trailer traffic, and a long, steel dragon swallowing Oceans of black poison sucked dry from Earth. I am tired; my shoulders ache under the weight Of this beam thrust upon my shoulders, the Jeers of the crowd now hurled at me, though I Was minutes ago just another pilgrim here for worship, Now staring into the face of a bleeding man who can Barely