This poem was published in Plough magazine, 2023
Oh, to imagine I'm shielding You, when You're
secure as a chant in a red hymnal,
hope of our eyes. You step away on sure
voices, in a child's throat made for canticle.
Oh, to dream I'm some ardent sentinel
bearing the moon on my watch, between a church
and a fire, when it's You who lifts my torch,
clears the tares, so that we might see the stones
pointing home. You pick Your way through the scorch,
calling stragglers - Oh, those dallying bones.
Comments