The Imagined Abbey 2

The knobbled grassy tussocks we walked on

May  be the swelling graves of monks, derided, gone.
The vertical  calls out in one high wall
A  fiery blackbird makes the final call.

The  plainchant  praising  G-d   has charged the air
For  us who don’t entomb our inner ear
The sacred music floats away like leaves
Bewitched and married by an autumn breeze

We stood in silence, viscerally stunned
The river was as clear  as love’s demands
And still, in my mind’s eye, I see that stream
I  am  held by the imagined Abbey’ in shared dreams

An elegiac moment caught in words
Entranced by symbols  like the darting birds

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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