February 7th: Prayer at The Holy Church of Postponing

February 7^th:  Prayer at The Holy Church of Postponing

you must seek

the ashy nest itself

if you hope to find

charred feathers, smouldering flightbones,

and a twist of singing flame

rekindling.

                        Hunting the Phoenix

                        Denise Levertov

I’m getting further behind

and farther--there’s depth

and distance to my delay

and maybe today I’ll fit

a brick or stone I once brought

from the old growth

its moss splendor greening

my finger prints.  All these

stones are piled behind me

and I only have to pick one,

just one to begin.  Just one.  Randomly.

The stones won’t know

if it were this one or that one

there’ll be no jealousy or

pride, it is, after all, just a

rock.  But if it’s got to be first

it’s got to take all the weight of thousands,

of feet and hands

of water coming to touch but never

stay, it’s got to take it all

like a man I heard the priest

name at mass one day

the one who had a church

built on him.  I imagine first

the rock, I bet for the foundation's

cornerstone.  It’s chosen for stability's

sake and it was placed (I imagine)

in the bowl of his pelvis, I bet

he had to squat to walk with it.

(he’s not, mind, Sisyphus

who dumbly watches it roll, or Atlas

who grits and strains with it all

on his back) and because

Peter’s all thrust I bet

it came from the countless fish he hauled

in over the years

that gave him thick thighs

and grit and a bag full

of brag so when

this baby comes

along this show-off glowing

goon and he says

he says and every crowd

believes what he says, he says:

Simon: Peter…and they believe

so desperately they kill that boy

and roll his bones

into stones and hold them

for ransom.  O it’s been

years since I thought

some apostle would call to let it all go

that some word could be like going

into that old growth

to carry two or three

at a time what a hundred

and fifty years ago some preacher

farmer made solid set and what

the mouth of the land

wrapped her alluring lips and warm

mouth around a prolific growing over

to moss to water to

decades of decayed fern and

pine cones(and

the random cow bell)

yes, I’m further

behind and farther.  Maybe

this

stone            will

o  ftttttttt            rrrrr ahhhh   will    if i shoulder it

if i

don't let it roll 

                          hold