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Faith is a tattered blanket in this age
of fear: a drape of old skin, soul’s girth
swelling with sugar-song, a late-stage
hymn soldering heaven to earth:
Engines mocking grace, a chief sinner’s sour
breath, turgid air and guns and tiers
of empty seats, a hundred tweets an hour:
God’s waiting room, fouled with jeers:
Fog spreading skirts over the city; a wet-salt kiss;
ordinary patience, a tiny hope-chest
of wonders, a mirror shrouded in mist;
our two bodies alive, awake, undressed:
Cow-bells clanking in the summer dark. Hearts’ blood
Pulsing, pulsing. Brown doves crooning in a quiet wood.
Dawn Potter’s many books include Chestnut Ridge (Deerbrook, 2019).
Copyright 2020 Dawn Potter.