Like a
conjuror,
Spring
Distracts
our eyes
From mud
Covered
Reality
To prove
illusions
After Easter
When
The mass of
lilies smothering the altar
Has been
removed,
The hangings
With quotations
relevant
To the
occasion
Have been
hidden in the back closet,
Bulletins
are printed
Not on
pastel but
Again on
plain
White
Paper
He still is
risen
Distance
People
With no
faces
Follow dusty
paths
I cannot
see.
What One Does with Philosophy
I met today
A monastery gardener
With a
barrow
And the
world in his mouth.
I Am Human, Too
Quite,
He says with
A twist of
the lips
That does
little enough
To reassure.
No comments:
Post a Comment