road, wall, far side of the garden—forgotten, dissolved in the rain.
Canticle of Before
It has begun before it begins—with a foretaste, a bead of nectar, an unshed tear, glassine, brimming with impulse.
And before the bead: wind, before the wind: cold, before the cold: dark—an absence presence set aside, a hollow to harbor power.
And before the hollow: the hollowed, the whole, the indivisible one.
And before the one, the perfect zero: the knife that proves it flawless by flawing it.
And who holds the knife, subtle and sharp, the probe that pierces and then withdraws, leaving a single glistening drop?
Canticle of the Bitter Almond Tree
Is this spring—this gray-green net that snags the birds, this pruning hook—
Come now at last to wrest the almonds from their stupor?
Doubt is not irreversible, Love. Take care.
Without first the cold, the rehearsal of snow on the wet branches,
There are no blossoms or fruit—fruit kept for its hard pit, the flesh is cut away.
Almonds are just as much almonds at root, in leaf, as ash, as they are in blossom.
Will the feral cat, kinked tail twitching, a bird in her mouth,
Set it down to lap a dish of warm milk?
Canticle of Blue
Besides the scatter-light of empty sky, Tiepolo or Martin, domed illusion;
Besides the ocean’s scribbled-on slate, weather’s surface tricks and gambits;
Besides the beyond, the yonder, the shangri-la earth as seen from the moon;
Besides the wing, the crystal, the petal, the scale;
Beneath the robe of the holy, the veil, the nothing figured as shadow.
Canticle of the Bridegroom:
from The Parables of Mary Magdalene
It is like the ten girls who took their lamps and went to wait in the dark all night for a husband.
All grew drowsy: five blew out their lamps and slept, four trimmed their wicks to brighten their flames—they read to pass the time—and one stood up, snuffed her lamp, and walked out into the night.
The stars, unchallenged by lamplight, shone. In the air a rich fragrance of figs. The one bride plucked a ripe fig and ate.
All night the bridegroom never arrived. In the morning he called at the house of the wise and foolish. Look! Here is your bridegroom! Come out! Open!
But nine girls had risen, as always, at dawn to draw water. They were away at the well. The tenth, having returned from the well before daybreak, spoke through the closed door. Truly, I tell you, she replied, I don’t—none of us knows you.
Canticle of the Cherry Tree:
from The Parables of Mary Magdalene
It is like a single cherry tree, surrounded with fences and growing in an orchard of cherry trees.
The fruit of the one tree is no redder or less red than the other trees’ fruit. Where its bark has cracked, sap oozes out, forming amber beads that harden in place, mid-drip. In this it is like the other trees.
The separate tree’s dusty leaves hang listless and bent, as do the leaves on the unfenced trees. All the cherries glow with late sun like jelly already put up in the jar.
Under the round shade of the fenced-in cherry, tall grass bleaches to hay, uncut and untrampled.
Come quick little foxes. Magpies come quick.
Canticle with Chipped Plates
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa,
