binding

“I thought our living and dying would be one.”
– Agnes’ letter to Clare of Assisi

far beyond a place begun, terraced though the dream await,
price too high the center spun, each depart another way

one to depth, another birthing, distance holding still to pray;
signal town no fire sending, hand and season slipt away.

here the loft from which we scattered, balcony above the play,
here the script divined and atlas, holding forth to keep at bay.

Who the god that keeps you yours, then, and mine own another day?
what the axis still its turning, never yet our peace to say.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s