A Sermon for Ascension Day
Thursday, and I’m required to speak of heaven, of take-off,
First and final flight; my hand shakes, my pen breaks
Line of page, refuses ruler’s rule.
Does God break lines too?
Now that’s an image and an old one: God as poet –
First Transgressor, Bird who hovers over page’s
Unruly seas, endless white. That’s a bird I could love –
Greasy feathered, storm-bringer, O Petrel, come:
Land with filth and ink, stain your story on tree and linen.
Let me write of Word made bird-bone, feather
Made heaven-bound, made Heaven. Hollow me till
Word flies, till Ascension, till God, till unruled, broken lines.