Читать книгу The Sunrise Liturgy - Mia Anderson - Страница 16

‘Lord, it is good for us to be here.’ Peter

not such an ass with that, you know.

Many a true word spoken in mist… the Cloud

coming on, the unknowing.

The building of houses, that’s

what’s on trial.

The fleuve is blue as Welsh slate this morning,

as labradorite,

ram between two rods of ice, the maple sap suspended mid-run

a Sanko Line freighter

green as a glacier

sliding down to sea.

To build or not to build, before the transfiguring lightrise

coram Deo in a house, new every morning and only ever once.

We are a building species, we’re Doozers. We do.

Sometimes the right building doesn’t happen.

But the instinct’s a grace, human, along

with swallows, beavers, bees :

Stonehenge and Poustinia,

Kelmscott, Little Gidding,

Sylvanès, Snowmass.

A house to share with God, a house to cohabit where

two worlds mesh : wick to the eternal.

Roof.

Each man beneath his own — vine and fig tree encumbering the eaves.