Monks lined up
in the evening cloister,
awaiting the bell for Vespers,
I stood in line,
eyeing the monk in front,
his cowl of black,
hands hidden from sight,
to be a saint
is to be what God
wants us to be
Therese said,
the stars in the square of sky
visible from the cloister,
orange bricks, dark, cold,
of walls and cloister wall,
she opened wide
as if a flower
at morning light,
the bell tolled
and the monks moved
on and in,
two fingers in
the stoup of water,
sign of the cross,
enter she said
come to me,
and I stood in the front stall
of the choir on the left,
smell of incense
still there from Mass,
the huge black book,
Latin words, plainsong music,
He has satisfied
the hungry with things
that are good
Dom Henry said,
I turned page after page,
Hugh beside me toned
his voice like a girl,
the abbot the figure
of Christ amongst us,
vírginis matris cláusula,
we sat and sang,
I listened as I sang
voices about me,
miséricors Dóminus
et iustus,
and she was warm
and ****** and ******
I watched the monk opposite,
head to one side,
eyes on the page,
tonsured and thin shouldered,
salty she tasted
salt of sea and fish,
without us God
will not Augustine said,
Dom Frederick whose book I read
spoke to me of
my lawn mowing skills,
from where shall
my help come?
from God,
from the far hills.