comes unexpectedly
in barns on bitter nights,
ultimately ordinary
lest we claim our rights.
Invisible to those who see,
a veil to those who know,
no miracle or mystery
descends to us below;
just immanence immaculate
awake within our sleep,
salient as a centipede
out strolling on a heap,
not strange enough to keep.
in barns on bitter nights,
ultimately ordinary
lest we claim our rights.
Invisible to those who see,
a veil to those who know,
no miracle or mystery
descends to us below;
just immanence immaculate
awake within our sleep,
salient as a centipede
out strolling on a heap,
not strange enough to keep.
Image from a greeting card by RHS, UK
