Belief

I penned (yes, no keyboard back then) this poem a long while ago and still, after all these years, find it to be at the core of what I believe.  From the collection, Feather and Leaf.

Creed

            1.

the last of the disciples

has stepped from the midnight church

onto the snow that covers the ground

without falling

            *

the women who have found

the folds of their bodies

unfold with the endless wave

and never speak of what they know

            *

the spirit penetrates

those who pretend to forgive sins

in the world where only men

wear the masks of apostles

            *

the smallest child

waits for the lights of the tree

in the cold in the dark in the place

where the earth is hollow beneath

            *

the crows gather in the branches

each time you pray

in the garden

burning the hyssop and sage

            *

the black night drips into the cup

of the crescent moon

and spills across the sky

and covers the stars

            *

alone you grow to love

those who have gazed

upon heaven and earth

and all that is seen and obscene

            *

and the crows gather again

on the lawn that sweeps down

from the fountain

where the leaves collect beneath water

            *

you spread the crumbs of bread

daily for the birds just the birds

that are everywhere

in your dreams

            *

and you have no choice

but to believe and forget

and remember what you have learned

without feeling for the words

            *

and the crows watch

the old priest pass through the iron gate

like one of the resurrected dead

waiting again for the world

            2.

the three fathers are there

but a day will arrive

and it will not be long

when they will be gone

            *

the day has come and we are here

and the holy fathers in their robes

have gone and we are left

with the immensity of the altar

            *

you climb the mountain

to steal an eagle’s feather

from the empty nest of an eagle

who has never climbed the mountain

            *

and you slip farther from yourself

your soul curling about your body

like the high snows curling

about the face of the mountain

            *

a shot rifling from the distance

scatters the blackbirds over the field

darkens the sun and

brings on the night

            *

you dream of the memories of childhood

filling the body of a child

giving shape to the blood and water

casting a dark shadow on the ground

            *

and you are carving a poem in the stone

to the stone challenging the wind

to lift it away

and it is your last thought

            3.

i believe in one god

eternally silent beyond silent and watching

with no words for that which is unseen

i believe in the end as in the beginning

that we may know only god

nothing more

i believe that all of this will disappear

with the dust without love

i believe that with love all of this will disappear

with the dust and the memory of the love

that was before the dust

i believe that we are made

in our own image that we spring

from the same place again and again

and that we are sprinkled among the stars

i believe that we have no choice but to believe

that we are the act of believing

born from one being

giving of itself to itself

i believe in the one journey

from the place where the self waits

to the place where the self sits

among the feathers waiting

i believe that in time all the separate lights

will go dark and fall into the center

and the center will long again for creation

and the world will be without end