In Vigil Hours
Light and shadow
Move across the ceiling
We know this
In so many ways
By living near the street
Or with a passing
Storm
Or
Oh
So slowly
Moonlight moving in the night
Shadow and light
To make illusions with
Our help
While
We lie below
And
Frightened or inspired
Have the hours
Of night pass
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Photo by Augustine Wong on Unsplash
(x = space)
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After Evening Service
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We could keep vigil
On toward midnight
When the new day is called
x
A horn might be too much
But inside the church
The organ might be released
To greet the day
Subdued for lateness of the hour
Wanting to be good neighbors
Give our hearts some quiet room
As well
x
I guess “midnight vigil” sounds
A quiet thing
To us
I’m sure in other lands
It does not go that way
There are noisy fanfares
Calls as announcement
Calls to prayer
Calls to say
(to play)
Even to shout
x
This is a new day
Of the Lord
And the Lord’s creations!
x
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Photo by Adrian Dascal on Unsplash
Washed Away Night
Midnight in Saint George, Romania
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(x = space)
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Vacant
(Holy Saturday)
x
A day for scurrying
Like mice in light
Look for food,
Hide, rest
Listening for the next
Sounds that are not yours
That might be coming for you
Or might give you away
Now add on human sadness
The living of a tragedy
Like Oedipus,
Antigone
No happy ending possible
The hero is gone
The extraordinary years are gone
There is nothing now
But flight from arrest,
Weeping as at Babylon
x
Practicing tradition
In the dark
Since the source was killed
In horror
Sleeps without sleeping
Leaving everyone
To scurry to avoid arrest
To somehow persist
With broken hearts
Hope so far off
To be recalled
Stories torn
Healing forgotten
x
We count this day
An in-between
They knew it only
As an empty,
Weeping nothing
x
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Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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Evening Hours
x
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
x
That this midnight
Will mean Monday
Though it could be
Any day,
Any set of twenty-four
Dedicated hours
x
All our sundials
All our watches
All our singing
As God wills
x
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Photo by Casey Horner on Unsplash
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(x = space)
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Ancient Chores
x
I imagine
Standing vigil
Is no fun
To be a soldier
On the wall
Even with peers
And a fire
In a brazier
Now and then
x
Maybe we
Call out the hours,
Which could keep
Us alert
In counting time
And I guess
The fires should be
Shielded away
From away
So that we might
Look out upon the field
To suss what
Might be stirring
x
But then
Comes the dawn
We are there
For the arrival,
Change in shift
Maybe change in orders
x
And is this
Holy, set apart
For godly purposes?
Does God arrive
In the dawn,
Apollo in a chariot
As our neighbor
Greeks might say?
x
Well, I should
Head back to
The space in which
I live
When I’m at home
x
This duty’s
Not so bad
Even as I wonder
Where is God
If in the sun
Or the chill wind
That blows
As if
Another wind
Had never
Crossed the yard
Before
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Photo by Alex Plesovskich 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
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(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
Lent 39
(penultimancy)
you must take time
to breathe
finish the song that’s been
going through your head
figure out what you were looking for
when you came into the room
(then find it)
pay attention to
what matters
which is not a scolding
but a happy watchword
paying attention’s fun
because you can (too) take the time
to gather in what’s pleasant
along the way
the thing is that the rest of the world
won’t stop with us, won’t take the time
except maybe to take it
and not give it back
choose something like a star
and Frost is right
we can select
from our own, something fantastic
that we’ll never keep
someone else could pick it, too
(we don’t have to tell
or make a fuss)
after all, what’s our own
but what is also shared
heart and soul
in an entire cosmos
the season ends tomorrow
with an entry into
everything that’s next
in practice and remembrance
we’ll have our parts
attendance won’t be checked
in any way that matters
(delight in grace)
but presence, well, let’s have it
as self-mandatory
vigil
and arrival
passion follows
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Image by Mohit Mourya from Pixabay
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