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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: February 19, 2016

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Submitted: February 19, 2016



I walked down the drive
from the abbey
to stand near the road
and listened to the traffic
pass by before the office
of Compline began,


moonlight in the dark sky
and stars sprinkled like sugar,

smell of incense
in the church
after Mass overwhelming,

a monk with a black patch
over one eye like a pirate
stood facing me in the choir
book in hand
head lowered,

begin doing
what is necessary
then what is possible
and suddenly
you are doing
the impossible
Francis said,

Dieu est ici
the French monk said
pointing a bony finger
towards his chest
as we trod up the drive
from our weekly walk,

Gott ist überall
an Austrain monk said
not just in the heart and soul,

George hoed the abbey gardens
and said the sun is so hot
it's like a desert out here
and it was
and we were thirsty,

Hugh thin and gaunt said
to be a saint one must do
the ordinary extraordinary well
which he never did
or so seemed,

give the apples a twist
so the monk said
do not pull them off
and I watched his fingers
touch and twist,

and she lay there naked
as the day she was born
and asked me
to shaft her
so I did
and her husband
was driving on a long haul,

wise men talk
because they have
something to say
fools because
they have to
say something
Gareth said quoting Plato,

the abbot tapped
his small hammer
on his bench
and the meal was over
and the reader stopped
mid sentence
reading from the book
and the refectory
was in silence
before prayers were said,

I lay with her
and she mouthed me whole,

cercare di essere salvati
the Italian monk said
to me as I weeded
the flowerbeds
in the cloister garth,

try and be saved
listen to the word,

some days I wished
to take flight and begone
like some wild
flapping wings bird.

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