The
Dream of the Monstrance
Imagine a line, straining
out
from dimming earth. Its vertical’s
the unassuageable cry
desire utters when doubt,
always its double,
conquers it –
like street lights staining
a spacious sky
invisible.
Now – angle
your gaze along this,
till you meet
whatever travels the
other way:
some glint or catch, a
give in night’s
impassiveness – the
whicker-flight
of geese. Promising you may
be lifted up, as by a
Will
which comprehends your
urgent call.
© Fiona Sampson
No comments:
Post a Comment