You are ancient and immediate

Holding us there. the
Moon overhead. and the
Voice breathing toward me. the
Black shadow of grass.
the moon
the voice
the shadow
Over all through all and in all
She sang that triad song
But Christ didn’t need to be said because

I move over You the grass beneath your feet
I whisper and caress you the cool of breeze
I light upon you the grey moon muscle
I open Your hand the fitted form and tender

you bend under weight of days and patient watching
You cradle witness of the funeral
you think and write a parallel network
You pace a landscape unseen

my remembrance a spongy soil



Another Advent poem