Sanctuary for Sinners
You must confess, there’s not much here.
Just a couple of chestnut trees,
a few potted flowers, a vine-covered statue
and the light of dusk
making everything glow.
You stand in the glow, the light slithering
up your shins, another one pouring
into your heart.
Only the second light is real.
And in the warmth of its rays
there lay the refrains of some hidden
orchestra, the delicate murmuring
of cold summer rain,
of the beggar’s cup filling with pearls
and poured out into in the dirt.
There’s not much here,
you must confess.
Only presence, only emptiness.
Only light and wind to make you invisible.
This is where
Narcissus tears out his eyes
and discovers a strange and profound
This is the delirium of falling away.
(The sketch above is of the late Captain Kirk, a former mechanic of mine, as Pan)…