Friday, April 4, 2014

At Thomas Merton’s Grave by Spencer Reece

At Thomas Merton’s Grave

We can never be with loss too long.
Behind the warped door that sticks,
the wood thrush calls to the monks,
pausing upon the stone crucifix,
singing: “I am marvelous alone!”
Thrash, thrash goes the hayfield:
rows of marrow and bone undone.
The horizon’s flashing fastens tight,
sealing the blue hills with vermilion.
Moss dyes a squirrel’s skull green.
The cemetery expands its borders—
little milky crosses grow like teeth.
How kind time is, altering space
so nothing stays wrong; and light,
more new light, always arrives.


1 comment:

  1. Thanks for posting this! Reece gave a marvelous reading at Swarthmore a few years ago, with his "The Clerk's Tale" the highlight. He ended his ready with James Merrill's "Christmas Tree," also an elegy that ends with a celebration of light itself.