“God has brought me laughter”

A baby’s lips are angelic.
They move like the gentlest of petals,
Like creation nudging creation’s soul.
Whenever an infant smiles
I sense the earliest human gesture
Coming alive through rock.
Whenever a baby smiles
I’ve dipped myself in the water of Lourdes.
My sins are washed away.
I’m as new as a newborn.

The child wants the clay sparrows to fly
He moulds them to live
He creates them to sing
He crafts a simulation
Equivalent to his reflection
Of an earthly heaven

Something in the wind lifts a deer’s head
Something in the air warns the birds
Something beyond the horizon troubles the horses
Our dog paces and the cat clings
Even the ants hurry to seal their nests
All creatures listen to what they know
Only we reject instinct for pride
Only we are alone with our madness

A storm is standing on a needle.
Don’t breathe or move a muscle.
There will be no tomorrow.

The wind is stalled by its own weight.
Don’t open any doors or windows.
Don’t step out into any fields.

The lightning is held in brightness.
Don’t turn on your lights.
Don’t activate even a flashlight.

Along a dark shore
Hail is sealed in stones.
Don’t shatter a glass. Don’t leave.

There was a dog my parents talked about
The neighbour’s dog,
And how when the neighbour died
The dog cried like a child.
They’d never seen anything like it.
He stayed all day at the cemetery
Lying on his owner’s grave
Or in the Sphinx position, guarding time.
He returned home for food and water
Then trundled back at night.
Whenever my parents told the story
My mother would say
Dogs have more heart than people.

As a boy I played
on the grounds of a convent

One day the sky turned green
wind ripped trees from the ground

I ran into the grotto of Mary
afraid of the wind
and the sword of lightning
that cracked above me

Then I fell asleep
under the statue
as though compelled

When I woke
the storm had passed
I was saved

The fragrance of roses was in the air
and tears from her eyes
wet my cheek

There are no records or photographs
but mourners lined blocks to visit.
Some waited hours
but couldn’t say
to whom they were paying respects,
almost as though the longer they waited,
the more a mass amnesia set in.

Conspiracy theorists
claimed the coffin was empty:
it was all a hoax,
to cover up a cover up
or rig an election,
but conspiracy is hardly the point.

Let’s say people
lined up to visit an empty coffin.
Shouldn’t we be weeping for that?

The shadow of a heron
Ripples over the waters.
If not for the wind
Its stillness would be magic.

The shadow of a hawk
Soars over the waters.
If not for the marsh
Its wings would separate.

A canoe on the marsh
Glides past the reeds.
If not for the oars
The sun couldn’t follow.

The marsh is a mirror.
The water is the sky.
If not for the moon
Humankind would drown.

I heard orange.
It’s the first time I’ve heard a colour.
I can’t tell you how.
It happened in an instant.
I couldn’t see the oriole
But the melody was orange,
Warm and bright
Like a sunset in song.

I am the eye of a shadow
I am in the fabric of being
The flesh of time
The space between leaves
The light between layers of bright
The weave of the wind
Feeling my way between realms
Forever dust shining
A ripple across a pond
The it of a bit
A negative on light
A reflection on air
A raindrop on your lips
A kiss from life

You will not forget me