BROTHER JOHN

I was born so, shadow-

less, living

the motley of cloth thought

man

by men

 

 

yet not myself

 

 

Dawn – olive

drab     I shambled

on tile

 

 

in glass, on crown

the edge

 

 

At the abbey

they greeted me

with stained hands

 

 

Now the days

are grape-taking, la-

bour

and song

raising wants

and voices in song

 

 

When they sing of god

I sing with them

unfirm

but listening, singing

 

 

Heaven brush us, dust

 

 

I think little

of my old life

 

 

For consolation, call

it dream

and half believe it

 

 

Brothers – but

they’d shrink

from one among them, un-

deceived

 

 

Buttoned, God, we’re one

 

 

Perhaps

they dwell themselves

restless, tilt-

ing sand

 

 

ink paths of sleep

at last

like me

 

 

and dream

 

 

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