poem: a vision of the Rood

THE weary floorboards creak to bear
my body and the millstone of my soul
that so heavy on my mortal frame I wear
this brooding head I bow, and sigh
and so incline this chin upon a moody breast
downward drops my vacant gaze and falls
to land upon those ancient olive planks
that hold my pending weight
sending down, to delegate
a burden I alone could never carry
their load these beams will ne’er forsake
till the hour comes they themselves should break.

I look upon these humble planks
and lo! a swell of thanks that upward springs
from font forgotten, yea! from a secret well
preserved in hidden chambers of this heart,
and like the drop that overflowed a basin
or the furtive glance of tenderness
that all my wounds has mended
that my afflictions tended
that turned my trials to pleasure
and turned my tears to treasure
like the fabled straw that broke the camel’s back:
the floorboards underneath me groan then crack,
and outward open like a mystic fan
or the feathers of a falcon’s wing
Or the sun’s first rays, as birds begin to sing
or the garish plumage of a peacock’s tail
that before this vision now can only pale:
my onetime firmly planted feet now stand
upon the vast and starry sky
the Milky Way, unfathomed, spans
all strewn about with dying light
that ferry messages of cosmic plight
and bear record of our destiny together—
a sight that beggars why and whether.

I raise my eyes, and there behold
without mistake: the nails
they hammered through those guileless palms
the stakes they drove
into those naked feet, to fix them
to that faithful stoic wood
of the Cross they raised on Golgotha.

The photo is taken by Jamie King in 2017. My heartfelt thanks to Jamie. This picture took my breath away when I first saw it. It is an image of the interior of Aachen Cathedral, where Emperor Charlemagne is buried.

The above is slightly reworked from a poem included in Scattered Leaves: poems collected (2020).