Paradise

I found a place that knows not time.At the end of the sea, an indigo mystery—there infinity speaks to skies of mauve,rose, blue, to the sun whose warmthdispels March’s gray, green, brown.

A bell calls, one lone bell of the hermitage.We weave baskets of praise and petition,woven like dunnocks’ nests of twigs,moss, wool—songs etched in filigreedsmoke of myrrh—hearts afire.

My cell, one bed, one table,one cross, one door to the garden.Dianthus, thyme, droning honeybees—stir memories of barefoot wonder.On the wall hangs one rule of Romuald—

Sit in your cell as in paradise.Put the whole world behind you and forget it.Watch your thoughts like a goodfisherman watching for fish.The path you must followis in the Psalms—never leave it.

The moon offers light,washing stucco walls with whiteas stars in counterpoint ignite.And, one nightjar churrsrest this wine dark night.