Holy Prophets Elijah and Elisha
If god lived in the sun she’d send her friends
a chariot of bubbling gas ablaze;
wheels of turning heat and burning reins of haze:
dynamism to carry off her ends.
The seat fabricate from sheer brace of power,
the floor ignites with planes of burnished flame,
the sun gives power to shape and nail the frame,
all conflagration to extol god’s hour.
If god lived in the sun she’d thaw the one
hamstrung in the gospel frozen from fears,
love hobbled in the cold, paused and icy tears;
her church where nothing may be done.
Defiant, Elisha followed him to fire,
felt heat and life, blessed with fierce love entire.
Elijah’s cloak over Elisha (sculpture by Betsy Porter — betsyporter.com)
There’s a special moment just before night
when grey turns brown, and ginger’s tinged red,
Forms appear like smoke against the twilight,
a side-on glimpse makes you turn your head.
In glory risen, Christ’s evanescing web,
Our sightings tangential, our love inept,
His presence felt at muted tides’ low ebb;
The Emmaus blessing gently breathed as stepped.
The bread is broken, space between fingers,
The almost presence vanishes to nil,
What cannot be. Possibility lingers…
The endless love of the universe to fill.
Light wrapped in fire and fire in rising light,
So delicately from the tomb alight.
À la brunante (Twilight), André Perrault (Galerie Guylaine Fournier, Québec, Canada)