Epiphany

On the sheetrock banco my son 
Has arranged the characters of the story
Textually out of sequence
But traditional.

Tiny carpenter’s apprentice to be
Master of beasts, Lord of angels
Philosopher king, her baby boy,
Something different to each
Plaster representation.

Some new, some old as time,
Some older, flames of undying fire
Illumined by the switch on the wall
Their shadows cast long and flickering
Across the quiet room.

Reflect from the decorated tree
Lost in the high ceiling of time
Warms my newly shaven head. 

How can we know, across the gulf
Of time and myth, the wonder, 
Dreams, wild longing, hope,
Projections, unfounded suppositions,
Flickering in each plaster heart?

They are ours – the never ending 
Litany of human need, human desires,
Bread, love, fulfillment, healing, 
Lifting of the burden of oppression, 
A natural order, a just king, forgiveness,
The listening ear, green grass, clean water.

Holy incense of pines on the mountain,
Plenty, warmth, a right relation to creation,
So much weight, so much meaning centered
On these tiny plaster casts cradled in the 
Firelight, arms already spread in
Universal embrace. 

Author: Duncan MacNae

Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees. duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com View all posts by Duncan MacNae