ST. GUILLEM AND THE SUNDIAL
The snow melts,
the weather clears,
fresh winds blow;
spring draws nigh.
The shadow of
this broken blade
(from my old sword)
melts too, each day.
Afternoon
unsheathing it,
in far-off woods
it melds with night.
*
By stony hills
I battled, once,
the bitter storms
of infidels.
But enmity,
venal delay
here tether me
against my will:
Jerusalem
remains afar,
captive yet
to useless war.
*
I am stilled
as this sundial.
As rusty swords
pursue my shade
into dark woods,
I’ll follow them
(blind pilgrim, so)
to vernal tomb.
3.19.2004
Labels:
Dove Street2,
Guillem de Gellone
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