The expectant dead surround me
Standing. I see my shadow only and know I am alone.
There amidst the circus beasts’ bones
I no longer have the strength or will to turn
And see the light that burns
My shade on the wall of the cave.
(They will say “But he is a knave
Who in the garden labours,
And is unable to savour
The sweet humour of thought.”)
I shall savour the salt of the sandy earth
And working, remember from whence these blue rocks,
These cold ragged rocks came.
Ex Nihilo,
Ineffable Love,
Conceit.
Two children on either side of an Angel walking from a garden.
Not for you now.
Not yet.
Now you may eat from one tree,
And from one tree only.
For the Yew has born fruit for you,
And of it’s bounty you may eat.
You may eat
Already.
And from the tree a garden shall grow.
I gaze now shyly at the fruit.
I am afraid to taste.
Sweetness is far too simple.
(They will laugh).
But the memory of sweetness…
It burnt my lips when first I touched it.
It was so very foreign.
Jesus loves me this I know, and
Ineluctable modalism.
Quaint really.
Two constants in two catchphrases.
(Surely they’ll think that’s clever.)
No. It is simple,
For the Bible tells me so.
Worthy of Imagination 