at last

492 CHRISTIANITY AND LITERATURE at last across heaven there are roads that never fade in the crouching grass you may walk sixty-five, sixty-six miles for a tall yellow stone to sit on when you have to get away from the city that rocks in the sky like a descending birthday cake the saints melting like wax candles dancing their tiers all the way up too much for you but then you find the smooth path worn down and away the clay not hard but replying with white puffs of cloud beneath you sibilance of grass ripples without wind not a tree around-no need, he told you, trees are for dying on slip back on the rock and lie flat open a simple pancake of undirected love water will come from that rock if you speak to it but if you sing it will pick up the harmony and if you decide to hold still not very long just a hundred thousand years it will hold you a rubbed down bed around your body lizards will come and write messages on your skin in scrawling print secret hieroglyphic tattoos of praise a little bird will drop lime juice in your mouth on the even days the angels will keep the path swept clean a great white string on the summer plain stomped down and invisibly repaired for whenever you choose to return RYAN PENDELL ...