Anchorite At the Gate of Heaven

ANCHORITE AT THE GATE OF HEAVEN Not heeding brute reality, nor matter’s bane I kneel at the door of heaven, a suppliant, Transcribing words of wisdom, like the rain On wild flowers; the garden’s hierophant: Anointed, a habit on my body’s beauty I lie in the threshold of my tryst with God - The first flight from earth being my duty Becoming His perfect mean and golden rod, I cool my heels in a dank, dark cell Where half-light becomes my element God’s plenty in motes, with the music of the bell A love feast of the penitent. I rise on wings of thankfulness and praise, Sing out in silence the glory of His ways. from IN MEMORY OF HER 2008