Poem for Wednesday

7 a.m. Eucharist

yawn opening up
before dawn
footsteps echo
through the empty knave
bounce between trusses
settle in the organ loft
under what must
be the rose window
Jesus stoops low
towel tied about
his waist to wash
a horrified Peter’s
dusty feet the
difficulty of remaining
little poor receiving
first the chalice
and paten
water wine breadbox
lavabo bowl set the lections
‘let the dead
bury the dead’
save the altar candles
for last reverence
then sit to watch
fledgling morning’s forms
emerge from forgetfulness’
far country take
shape tree fencepost
pigeons trading spaces
on the powerline
last night’s dream the homily
a gauzy drift of memory plans
and things for the to-do list
come and go
in the silent absence
where everything comes
to nothing
‘no place to lay
his head’


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