small things (bright tuesday 2021)

my life is filled

with so many small things

small joys

                  small fears

small confidences

                             small promises

let there be small open windows

just a little light

to wend my way

                            with you

into a drunken

                        passion

this bright week

continues

empties into

                     one day

let me discover

something new

i will be satisfied

there will always be
small dreams
                       prophecies
visions

: blood, and fire, and smoke
: the sun turned to darkness
: the moon to blood

let them be writ large 

my sight grows dim

monday of the angel

i.

early in the morning

we go looking for tombs

                                        as one does

or perhaps what i really mean is

i am looking for fresh words

for the mouth is a grave

and full of stones

ii.

in the afternoon

we take a walk
                         as one does

or rather, i take a walk

we no longer walk together

it saves us arguments

                                    perhaps
but the stories become smaller

and the signs obscure

i miss our meals

together

iii.

in the night

i am filled with waiting

i light the candles

i should like to see an angel

one day

              or should i say, again?

it’s been so long

since i’ve received

a message from you

rituals (easter sunday 2021)

Sometimes it is all too much.

I don’t know how to say it all

when I so rarely say it all.

I practise all the reminders,

look for ways to rehearse the experience

of discovering you and being discovered.

I’ve played Jesus in the Easter play,

tried to find new ways to discover the story,

to give it a new skin.

I’ve been to sunrise services,

tore off chunks of freshly baked bread,

drank the communion wine.

I’ve visited sanctuaries covered in black cloth,

joined processions of dancing pilgrims,

hidden the eggs before going scavenging.

I’ve stayed up all night praying,

meditated on the meaning of sacrifice,

death to self, and the new birth.

I have retreated into silence far too often,

unsure of my ability to parse religion and faith,

how to balance certainties and questions.

I can feel the tiredness in my body,

the sluggishness of my thoughts,

and how my vision of you has become a fog.

But somehow, when we sing the songs,

there, unbidden, is a great joy: 

He is risen, he is risen, he is risen.

epitaphios (holy saturday 2021)

you seem at rest 

but you are not at rest 

beneath the skin 

you are a fire 

you proclaim good things 

to the dead 

you scatter the petals 

of every flower 

associated with spring 

it is an easy symbolism 

yet everything fades 

eventually 

the shouts, the tears 

fame and beauty 

even poetry gets replaced 

by the muscular grunting 

of sweaty bodies 

and there is something new 

to celebrate 

in the evening 

after the games 

they cover the ground 

with laurel 

this is a consolation 

Apollo’s mourning 

it is not yet victory 

how does one 

redeem sorrow? 

how does one 

remain at rest 

with all the forces intent 

on our construction? 

let me remain here 

what is left of my body 

is all i have left 

to build something new 

lay your hands on me 

anoint me with myrrh and aloes  

make me soft again 

restore me with beauty 

i’m tired of ashes 

bring me some new clothes 

fresh bread, wine

stations (good friday 2021)

i’m either in the garden of discontent 

                                                            or being threatened with death

 

i remember every betrayal and every kiss 

                                                                   and i’ve carried those burdens ever since

 

all this effort to cast judgement  

                                                   i lost my footing for a time

 

you pretended not to know me 

                                                  so i looked for faces i could recognize

 

pronouncements were made by strangers 

                                                                  and yet strangers came to my aid

 

sticks, stones, glass, thorns, words 

                                                        shape the way everything is seen

 

i take up the burden of you again 

                                                      and lose my footing for a time

 

strangers come to my aid 

                                         and i am surrounded by songs of lamentation

 

i sing songs of lamentation 

                                            and i lose my footing for a time

 

everything is broken now 

                                          everything is laid bare

 

you promise me a kingdom 

                                             but everything is so broken now

 

if only we could love one another 

                                                       i could leave you satisfied

 

i would leave you satisfied 

                                            my body transported to a new home

 

i hope it is all worth waiting for 

                                                    tell me it is all worth waiting for