Wednesday, August 18, 2010

snow prayer

Animal without grace, God-

fearing, something or other, I don’t know –

but I don’t want a truth on my knees

unless I go there to kneel and say my thanks

of my own volition.

Put it another way

Sunlight is one

of the ecstasies of winter

on the skin, on the face

to stop the heart beaching itself

on a bellyful of desires.

Cormac McCarthy was right

children are the last God

in all of us.

And this is why I am

trying so hard to live

in my own present again.

To not regret the future

We can’t cheat time

only rapture it

with our true joy:

my daughter’s eyes,

my eldest son’s eyes,

my youngest son’s eyes,

my partner’s eyes,

how I love you all

and love you all.

Sometimes I dream of snow

like a world of feathers floating.

It’s a memory too.

A street wet with morning light.

The feathers dissolve into my coat.

I’m a bird in this glass cool thought,

dreaming of you all before I knew you.

It’s a memory too.

That Fuller quote, ‘fire

is the sun unwinding itself from the wood.’

Maybe it’s right and I’ve got this inside out.

My love yearning a world away,

the fire unwinding back to you:

I want to love you after I am dead.

When the trees talk to me,

breathing their divine green

wind-woven words

a 1000 tongues

shimmering like Holy Ghosts

on nature’s bones

I feel easier about it all

As if every lie and weakness and failure

since my birth is nothing more than a drop

of rain or light or tears or air.

I forgive everybody and hope they will forgive me.

Nothing matters anymore but kindness and forgiveness.

All else is stone after stone on the chest.

Burial music.

A feather falls to my tongue.

I turn into a bird made of white, white ice

and fly high into a white, white sky.

It’s a long time ago this happened. On that street I walked.

You can’t see me anymore, there or here.

But I love you. I loved you my children and my love

and my love was there before I knew you, and after I went away

into this white forever. A white bird remembered.

God breathes down on me and I melt away mid-flight.

Inevitably. Snow on a country street that you walk one day.

Rain and sleet through the wet bones of the crystal trees

I spoke in prayer

The strangest kiss that you kiss back to me. Air.

- Mark Mordue

* Image of snow crystals by Calico Jack and found at

No comments: