Abigail Carroll
Matins
Then will I weave
from the ash-blue light
and the laments
of David a basket
,
the spokes of which will hold,
strong and bone-like,
a weft of words
soaked in solitude and moon-
gleam, supple
as the waning dark,
which bends away on the arc
of night. Then
will I twine
my petitions onto the dawn;
with each tuck
and fold, Selah
.
Such is the work of prayer:
a thrush sews twigs
and grass, and out
of it the bowl of a nest;
chafed hands
braid reeds
and splints into a tabernacle
of sorts. Here
will I live—
if You will tenant this house,
scaffold of birdsong
and sighs, the grievances
of Job, damp air, the stir of leaves,
light unraveling the oaks.
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Artwork on this page:
Detail of Hands on the ground
10 x 8" oil on clayboard
Irene Hardwicke Olivieri
Detail of Hands on the ground
10 x 8" oil on clayboard
Irene Hardwicke Olivieri