Liturgical West (A)
Where water and fog meet
There are few borders:
Ships slice on ribbons of mist
Ethereal in the morning light,
And groggy cranes raise their necks on the outskirts,
Titans saying their praises above curling fogs,
Sleep still in the eyes of the reverent rows of Bridge-lamps
And the sodium stirring in the glass.
Saint Francis smiles, fog draped over her shoulders,
She emerging from primordial cisterns,
From when the Spirit hovered over the face of the mystery,
There where the Spirit grins.
Liturgical West (B)
Behold humanity curling
To the rim of the bay, industious;
She tries so hard to pervert
With her steel girters, tacky, illustrious,
Only to watch the calamity, the subversion of subtle Grin in her porticos.
Liturgical West (C)
Iron rising and
Planks spooning through mysteries:
Ironic, beauty abiding.
-r
