John the Baptist in Yorkshire
Rain..pasties…strawberries & cream,
A summer dream in England…
He said, (or was it I),
Don’t go, but I went. As seasons will,
Tear & moor upon unvisited seas.
Shakespeare of voice, inviting
Untouchable, ancient
Touches me now, as I prepare
To see him again.
The One, I suppose,
Framed by so many
False witnesses
Barely there, hardly real,
Glitches really
In desperation thus.
Echoes of an etude
He waits
Weathering immaculate
Storms,
Immaculate in his regard
Sun to Sky,
Blue to ruin. Free
Falling unto me.
Originally published at https://carolbankswebercoggie.wordpress.com on August 11, 2020.
