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. [End Page 239]
Mona T. Lydon-Rochelle’s chapbook, Mourning Dove (Finishing Line Press, 2014). Her poems have also appeared in Floating Bridge Review, Journal of Medical Humanities, Santa Fe Literary Journal, Xavier Review, JAMA, among others. She previously served as a professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Washington and University of College Cork Ireland, and currently volunteers for Médecins Sans Frontières. She lives on an island in the Pacific Northwest. email@example.com