parliamentary murmurations

—

those given to solitude, benefitted by being alone
might gain too by consultation
an owl amongst its own
unclean in the rubble of a holy promise

—

parliamentary murmurations
the eternal echoes of sacred halls

—

in the beginning
he hovers over the deep
winged and waits for word
founds earth, heavens establishing
and breaks open that deep
to create light, night, dry land, and bird

—

parliamentary murmurations
the eternal echoes of sacred halls
issuing from the crags of desolation

—

wisdom on a warrior’s shoulder
philo-sophia in her namesake
pagan Jerusalem, a city a temple

—

parliamentary murmurations
the eternal echoes of sacred halls
issuing from the crags of desolation
raptors hidden in the house of mourning
rapture waiting to prey

—

we ask a raven and a dove
to find some footing
we quiet for quail
keeping concerns quiescent
we are told to pledge so little
as a turtle dove or pigeon
just to see a grecian phoenix flushed from the fire

—

parliamentary murmurations
the eternal echoes of sacred halls
issuing from the crags of desolation
raptors hidden in the house of mourning
rapture waiting to prey
advantaged in obstinate dark

—

phlegm and honey dripping
up from her own low stoop
or down from the lofty places
folly calls loud to those passing
those who might otherwise
stumble into something better
wander down her paths

—

a ghost must lodge
where it is so dark, so hallowed
a spirit must account
for what must be righted
and I have wronged far enough
to shiver in fear
here a beginning

—

flown over the void
over the waters of judgment
the dove descends once
more sent or called or
returned to whence he in part proceeds

—

wisdom too calls through the broad way
into the alleys without reputation
how long, o simple? how still?
and laughter chokes on liturgy
half remembered and silent
a fool’s only hope

—

parliamentary murmurations
the eternal echoes of sacred halls
issuing from the crags of desolation
raptors hidden in the house of mourning
rapture waiting to prey
advantaged in obstinate dark
pray to cut those shadows
haunting a weary sanctuary
roosting on the tree, crossed below
bold to perch paired above an ancient altar
haughty hoots and humbled mutterings mix
and echo low through vaulted trunks
joining the din of saintly spirits blowing
substance aloft on shades of silence

—

witnesses in the mist
rising as one who must
bend limb, extended then
shifted in compression
the dead a signal gave
be, righteous or wise, but do!
no wisdom is in the grave

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a finch, sparrow, or starling
humble in utter simplicity
might be goaded into the right use
of what in grace is given
fed and knowing so little
and in flight gives shape
to a shared and older practice
creates, not driven by, the wind

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so when I was told
when you know, you know
I took flight, birds of a feather
knew nothing, argued lowly
expressed all my wisdom in silence
dove, rose into that shared grace

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confidence and youth gone by
covenant bride I found
and a wisdom not mine
prepared home from house
I will not forsake these blessed fountains
my own cistern will keep me
issuing from deep wells
a baby bird bathes in my garden

—

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