We converse until it gets too cold,
And another sphere descends through
Our dimension like magic, a siren,
A horizon receding as we stand
In place. Be ready when it comes.
There was a day I ambled through
Brambles in Baltimore as a scroll
Unfolded before me; I had found
Myself naming every side of a dance,
Of fate. Be ready when it comes.
In my mind man and God became
One, became none, became one again.
I was lost in the woods and what
Good fortune it was, what chance,
What grace. Be ready when it comes.
There were explorers on earth once,
And they did not know their own faces.
When the young Queen Elizabeth
was given a globe, she laughed,
They say. Be ready when it comes.
In a flat land in dust light, where
I have often dreamed: citizens
Tremble behind clouded glass and
Two men in masks make tracks;
They pace. Be ready when it comes.
That night in the woods, I slept
On the floor. I could not haveÂ
Slept more than an hour; Christ
Stilled the soul, the cataracts,
The waves. Be ready when it comes.
Were those men to cease to circle,
Or the voyage to reach the shore,
The chill to settle in our bones,
The queen to ask for more– relax!
Remain. Be ready when it comes.
A bell tolls four times here where
I write–the night is near and kindly.
Magic and miracles are matters
Of more than faith; they act,
We wait. Be ready when it comes.
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