Canticle

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know You are here in the morning sky

when the winds calm and blue ash

turns to flame over the clock tower

and mountains of the high desert.

 

I know You hear the raven

as she circles the field

re-orienting herself

to the smell of dust not rain.

Her shriek of despair.

 

I know You are the fire

shining through the Venetian blind

that casts a shadow of  beads

( belonging to Your Veiled Mother)

on my  wall.

 

I know You feel the tremble

in the closed bloom of my hands

waiting for a prayer

to open and bless.

 

I know You are here,

solvent in light and breath.