What we saw

Calluses are dreamt away.

Faces fit and fingers are still.

The lid’s arch flattens before sweat and matted hair.

Patterns are accepted.
Orders are givens.

Timing is everything.
Distances are set.

The room is furnished.

The catalogue falls open like a longing mouth.

There is a well kept path through the forest.

We are always fed our set portions.

Satiety is written in every other face.
Every other face is made complete.

You are yourself a picture of contentment.

You are a likeness, a silhouette to hand.

You are a comfort, a reason, a ready shoulder.

A Hymn

The grey aims are all done.
Now welcome the new flame,
That kills with a remorseless light,
The order of the same.

The labors of each day,
Administered in time,
We leave to Measure and to Death,
With each unruly chime.

This small world has no pow'r,
To keep the flame apart.
The fixed economy of law,
Dissolves in every heart

Now teach me to forget,
The duties hard and clear,
And welcome, without certainty,
The King of love and fear