My God, my God, is this one of thy ways of drawing light out of darkness, to make him for whom this bell tolls, now in this dimness of his sight, to become a superintendent, an overseer, a bishop, to as many as hear his voice in this bell, and to give us a confirmation in this action?
Perchance he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.
As death is the wages of sin it is due to me; as death is the end of sickness it belongs to me; and though so disobedient a servant as I may be afraid to die, yet to so merciful a master as thou I cannot be afraid to come; and therefore into thy hands, O my God, I commend my spirit…
2 September 2010
Bald white trunk & dead black bark, toc-toc. Small shrugs
in long black coats, their stripped pine whipping at the skyline…
swiftly unveiled, in twos and threes, ravens and the ideas
of ravens drip down onto the air, black silk scarves
pulling each other through the silk blue sleeves
in a wintry sky & out into the mind's eye to stall and dip…
5 September 2010
The spine snapped in two.
Showers of sparks—burning snowflakes—then out.
His rib-punctured lung… Stop it.