Matins

 

It is raining.

 

            Pink hollyhocks press at our kitchen window

 

            doubled by Degas -

 

each filled and frilled flower

 

draws tints of dance

 

gathers intensity

 

to deeper knots of light.

 

 

I wait for you, stunned

 

            by a hummingbird landing

 

            on a stem of air

 

            as drops drip

 

            from bright leaf to green bud to leaf below

 

 

            by a purling silence

 

            and the flaunting flutter

 

            of rosy wet whimsy

 

            now within myself as well

 

truly it is too much for prayer!

 

enough to read the round matutinal rubrics

 

illumined on this page of glass

 

 

like the hovering winged emerald

 

I, too, sip the sweet and holy word of Presence.

 

 

you come in smiling. I give and get a kiss.

 

            I pour hot coffee

 

            you break toast

 

together we open the missal of morning

 

to a grace

 

            blurred by bliss.