Liturgy of the Pre-Sanctified Gifts

An imagined womb-
like darkness.
Light neither of the sun
rising nor setting but
diffused, crepuscular.
Over such must the pregnant
Spirit have brooded.
The burnished icons
address me with their stern,
gentle eyes, delving
into my unquiet privacy;
my shadow freedom to be separate.
Something is happening: beyond
the screen that marks
the limit of what can be known
a delicate descant of chimes
as incense fills little heaven.
I cannot grasp what
these things mean.
For the first time, I am
content not to know.
A phrase flares up
From the praying heart,
‘Master, it is good to be here.’
It is good, to be,
here.

Simon Peter Iredale
Copyright: By application

Last by this author