maranatha

i hope we will be friends; you and I,
If not in all seasons, then perhaps until
Winter's silence appears and footsteps outside
become unwise.

Will you lead me? Through unknown doors;
Barricade me, protect me from all assailants?
Cocoon me enough to hear breathing, awkwardly conscious,
Until you and I are one and friends no more.

I hope your syllables, uttered faithlessly each day
Will be enough.

the moor

wonderful from r.s. thomas.

It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.

There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions -- that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.