Chant

how she knows nothing

of hunger, pain or longing

as she chants her way

Manna

pilgrim recalling

the miracle of manna

hungers even more

footsore traveller

breaking bread beside the way

sacristan of dust

pilgrim at the feast

sipping wine and nibbling bread

her ascetic song

a blade of grey sky

beheading condemned flowers—

the warrior’s way

You sent strands of silk

that I might write about them—

I slip through the gate.

In this far country

I have no plans to embrace,

only time for you.

the ache on her tongue

from spitting out spiteful words

to the one she loves

sweeping the chapel

after the pilgrims go home

unanswered prayers

with her sharp pencil

sketching the mercy of trees

the grace of flowers