Then you arrived
Already made
Of alabaster
Carved in part
From these my
Fumbling fingers
And toes
Foregoing their grip
Tripping on stairs
That
Rising like pews
Cross- sawn
Oaken ladders
Impeded a saintly
Assumption
Shine lightly on
This rushed apprentice
Who wildly straws
His setting fresco
The original plan
Was to complete
The sky
Before your
Immaculate grain
Was borne
Reeling
In the clouds
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
No comments:
Post a Comment