This is the willows’ season

For bees – the hive has hidden

All it knows to watch

If Christ is risen.

All the tools are rusting,

They weaken at the seals,

The signs unfasten from their readings.

I’ve left the wheel.

The country house has diamond

Windows, turquoise peeling

From the doors, the Lord’s blood

Wets the ceiling.

At noon I watch the Daystar

Shine, this my one Lord’s truth,

His body in the olive terrace,

Forehead in the roof.

The wasps are at the elm sap,

Visitations in the night.

Let me drink the wine of Cana

By broad daylight.

My wife uncovers pathways,

And Lord, I still hoard amulets,

And dream of star-lamps set up

At right and left.

I walk with my child at daybreak,

Wire the bird down to his sleeve,

We go down to stir the water,

Be born again, believe.