Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Jamestown Island Church

9 Jamestown Bell Tower

The singularity of place,
This place, is here upon the eye
Shadowed by red oak, clustered
With hard tips of last year’s leaves.

Along each limb a whirling of
Brown tissue in the winter
Morning survives the general
Decay. In the wind is moving

Gently what we think is dead, or
What we want to see upon the
Earth spread thinly in a carpet,
Like the bricks that stood beside them.

These trees, I know, still have shape
To move the faith across tipped
Centuries with daily acts,
Whorls and sprays of sharp devotion.

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