5 September: Fiat

 

Like this tree, half-felled

by storm-wind, let my soul be

split, but not destroyed – see –

boughs, like ballet arms extending,

arch as if intending still more –

this severance allows for greater bending:

wind that wrecked has shaped

a back a neck a head –

once upright, whole, now torn –

another perfection’s born:

a tangled, sweeping reverence.

bowing to unlikely providence

that wrought this dread marvel

of fiat form.

 

A hidden flaw at core, no doubt,

gave grip for wind to wring

this grace like water out,

cracking this tough, this sheer,

this rigid thing –

new beauty spilt:

wound’s yielding.

Science needs surprises –

find yours.

Rule, pattern, type

don’t always please your God –

he’s not that kind of deity.

the good’s not always

in what’s done rightly.

Let my soul, half-felled,

be like this tree.

SJC

Advertisement