I wanted to go when it wasn’t
raining, and it wasn’t.
I saw how all is beautiful
if you just let your eye
adjust to it: the anchor on the
houseboat, the well-wishing
at the door, the kid’s book-
bag and yellow raincoat.
I remembered visiting Father
Imbelli’s mother, before
he and I made that retreat:
the narrow wall with books,
her Sinatra record, the window
looking out over the Bronx.
Later, at Maryknoll, we ate
from trays in the institutional
dining hall (I love those, the trays
and the dining halls), and drank
Jack Daniels while looking out
over the Hudson. Isn’t that what
we’re meant to do, take
the God’s-eye view
and love the supper from our tray?
Tag Archives: seeing
Optic
The mist you’re in
is light on the dirt
on my own window.
I’d clear if it I could,
to see you as you are.
That I might see
Is there an icon of eyes
of the dove
wings wide
just above the shoulder –
and of in the eyes
that branch
buried in the heart of Jesus?
Nebula
There were axioms in the microgaps
and a man could nod his head
a long time, seeing what he saw
Tripping on the lowest stair
Why go anywhere
when you can see it all
already, the whole way
up and the view from the
top? The circling stone,
the light, the river
and the gargoyles.
The sun sets sooner
here below.
Withdraw, man, unknock!
Take your meat at safety’s table.
On seeing, without the aid of John or Lear
I uncoupled the two eye-beams
and sent them in search of what
I did not know. This proved to be
where people have their lunch,
corners with not a lot,
and rafter bats.
PIN codes were not my concern,
nor were people in
various states of undress.
I’d liked to have seen, however,
the insides of the latter,
or rather,
the insides of their insides.
But alas! My beams are bogus beams
whose insights couldn’t be flatter.
Utrecht Journal 