The Bartering
And even after night became dawn
After confession tumbled priest and pawn
I still wish, forever, O you did come
Push back the cubicle to your face
What joy there could tell ransome
What opportunity of unfolding grace
Had visions of songs in expectation
And miss the lie more the jubilation
For in that pious place the big mask
Is not the priest's, but that of saints
Who wearing robes that grace task
To the blind booth tell all complaints
For in Leah only the blind has lost
I pay nor penance, nor father's cost
Coming empty to an empty world
To find for us our confiscated part
In each surprise some joy is hurled
Some mending of the broken heart
I wish you were there in fool's belief
That penury would purchase no relief
Or that truth would deflate desire
Where loneliness against the time, ranks
A man like fodder for the quick fire
The hard thing to see is mote, not the planks.
Why did you not come like dawn, why
Stupid bird, long flown, for you I sigh
Do you need read the weather's sign
And understand not in them the only joy
Is that which in maze nor plain I find
In words alone the decoy meets the decoy.
O that pride had a plainer tongue to say
The deepest anger is in the cirrus day
For most, carelessly, speak of sudden storms
I only know the churning heat, the long
Foretell against the blind blistering of norms
The silent hum of a sweet, sinister song.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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