Farmers
I was young, so
When I knelt in
A pew, as I would,
With my back
Facing the altar,
No one cared.
Each mass I’d
Stare at the wall
Where the farmers
Stood and smoked,
Near the door,
Before the fields.
At Consecration,
Without show,
Each would drop
Their hat and to
One knee in one
Fluid motion such
That the knee
Would hit the hat
On the floor at
The same time,
And the faith
Before them
Came through
Clear and neutral
Before me.
* * * * *
The Long Goodbye
Camilla and I went to see Body/Head last night,
And, while I’m still filled with feedback, I’m sure it
Was The Long Goodbye playing in slow motion on a sheet
Behind them playing — just as I’m also sure someone
Has already said, or thought to say, it was like watching
A conversation with God, if there is a God, unfold before
Them — say on the violence of paradise lost and found
Being paraded around with the pure unspoken ecstasy
Of shattered innocence not unlike today — a gentleman
Painter of advanced age walked across water into where
I work and showed me his work, which was breathtaking,
And I’m positive he said, I’ve spent my life making
Art to please others, so now I’m exploring extra dimensions
And what I’ve discovered is all possibilities lead to the inevitable.