Monday, December 15, 2014

Mount Of Olives

A fragment of earth seen through leaves,
through the thicket of time, at last through the brook
that covers the bottom of a slender chalice.
The chalice was formed from a crack in the rocks.
A fragment of earth seen still through You,
or is it through me?
The dwarfed olive trees where You
could not find shelter then, nor–
And today, why do I come?
Don’t be surprised. Here for one thousand
nine hundred years each gaze passes
into that one gaze which never alters.

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