Thursday, March 28, 2013

The Garden—late, Thursday

Night’s come.

        From  root-ruptured earth, tired and split
Emerges a trunk—rough, darkened and stiff
I recline. The numbing scent of olives sweet
Unknots my muscles, though still, I cannot dream.
Dark are the moon-shadows stretching through the trees
Dim are their leaves and I am fast asleep
Quiet stirs—and I come awake—the night is strange
So strange…these heavy eyes can only wane.
And slow the moon-beams grow as shadows creep
What is this fatigue, this oppressive sleep?
Awake my soul. Let us awake the dawn
Get up, I say, before the hour’s gone!
Yet slumber cradles me in mangled roots
It’s come—the thief—and I can’t seem to move.

+ Br. Joseph Michael Fino, CFR
Most Blessed Sacrament Friary
Newark, NJ
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