The tall monk
with the large keys;
his way of opening up
the door to the church
as if moving the stone
from the tomb of Christ,
the key having done its job
is placed back
in his black habit pocket.
I polish the choir stalls
with duster
and an old tin
of polish;
I recall her lips
******* me
to a heaven.
The squat monk
pulled weeds
from the side bed,
the sun on his
bent tonsure head.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
The tall monk
with the large keys;
his way of opening up
the door to the church
as if moving the stone
from the tomb of Christ,
the key having done its job
is placed back
in his black habit pocket.
I polish the choir stalls
with duster
and an old tin
of polish;
I recall her lips
******* me
to a heaven.
The squat monk
pulled weeds
from the side bed,
the sun on his
bent tonsure head.
MONKS AND NOVICE IN AN ABBEY IN 1971
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