September Grace

 

 

As the day ends, the sun spreads it wings

sailing west over the granite hills

and coastal village.

 

The first light and the last light

(one in the same )

falls through the pine branches

and the hands of those praying

 

at the table, in the garden

or on a fishing  boat  this hour.

Its soft  brightness pulsates

 a number of times. For some

it is seven, the seven sorrows

of  Mary.

 

Her beautiful head

bows in the church window.

Her blue veil  seen

from the close distance

 

of an old  fountain

with it stone chipped

and gauzed in spider's silk,

( all the water drained)

 

or the dock further down

jutting into the river

with its wood splintered

and leaves floating green

and gold as vinegar in the shallows.