(x = space)
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Evening Hours
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Tonight, somewhere
Vespers will be sung
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Then maybe at midnight,
Those keeping vigil
In a circle
In a loft
Will utter prayers at midnight
For the sake of the new day
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That this midnight
Will mean Monday
Though it could be
Any day,
Any set of twenty-four
Dedicated hours
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All our sundials
All our watches
All our singing
As God wills
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C L Couch
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Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash
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Mystaken
A mystery
At night
Vespers
Lights off, no need
A single glow for reading
Another for the exit
I tell you a mystery
I’m not sure about the victim
Jesus
All of us from Eden
The perpetrator
The design behind
Agencies of evil
More than that, I cannot, may not say
The weapons
Hate
Anger turned into ambition
(it could have come from something else)
Wood
Nails
Hammer
Items for building
Turned to wreck
To rot
A life
From any usefulness
From beauty
The motive
Ask of us
Things to think about
Or feel through as
Later at night
Might turn to vigiling
Pray for us
The innocents
Those outside the drama
Now framed in viscerality
And doubt
The victims
Who should go to heaven
Deserving all reward
And will have none of it
But celebration
That’s for morning
Tonight we have a calm confusion
To keep
Cupped in each palm
(that might have held something else),
Paradox an artifact
Having a sharp edge
Maybe thorns
With care, then
All of us in darkling time
Taking up, taken or brought
To mystery
C L Couch
(moon) Image by Muhamad Ikhsan from Pixabay
(church image by) Lijonama80 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61976949
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