the heft and the edge                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     10/6/2020

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First Fall

Shorelines are hard up here.
No soft foot-stepping, love-letter beaches,
but broken stone washed by cold water.
The top of the world is no place
for easy comfort.

The water though is glass clear,
ice clear, right through to the cracked rock bed.
Here inquisitive fish nudge cold jelly tits,
and barracking duck mock my well preened
lower latitude ways.

I cross a concrete field
to the hunting ground.

The snow dredge, nearly horizontal,
is incessant yet children skip and run
their trailing hoods disdained;
they play between stud tyre trucks,
and ticking blocks of antifreeze.

First fall of winter may last a day
or ten, but the harsh supermarket lights
will shine regardless until the days
forget winter and dark takes rest.
Shelf-stacked, by the quay,
ships stand ready to deliver
soft goods, warm clothes,
well-deserved chocolate and indoor games,
sent north to mitigate the coming night.
 

 

 

 

 

Devil May Care

 

Below beneath within,
secrets lie hidden
surface hides the truth;
the wholesome skin
clothes doubt with honesty.

The unwary, unquestioning, blind
pause not or wonder at
a chance of corruption, core of cancer,
a kernel of spite to destroy
any dream of perfection

or is that dream itself a lie?
That virginity, chastity, purity
should survive? Can the flesh
remain sound despite autumnal
presumptions of decay?

With both hands I grasp
and bite.

The apple is sweet
either way.



 

 

 

NIDARO CATHEDRAL – Trondheim
 

It is not true:
the stone walls fail
the perpendicular requirements
of the cruxiform.

Deep in the gloom
cast by lives of Apostles
pilgrims maintain a lack
of critical response.

They see more light than me:
this is a holy place.

As it must be:
all works of man in
praise of God
demand, of themselves,
respect.

And yet the early,
and middle and late
do not match:
 the altar is akilter,
 the apse a twist away
 from intention.

Did that foundation move,
to mock skill and belief,
before new walls could be built?