One Lost At Sea Mcmlxx. Poem by Terry Collett

l'uomo creato per
renderlo partecipe della
sua vita beata
said the Italian monk
sitting in an old armchair
in the guest's room
facing me,

created man to share
in His blessed life?
I said
speaking of God
an image far removed
from the old man
in the clouds idea,

si è giusto
he said
eyeing me
his thin eyebrows
like straight black lines,

bell tower
orange brick
reaching over
des arbres
deep bell sounds,

I stood watching
rain fall on black tiles
from the window
grey skies
moving dark grey clouds,

Ich bin immer mit dir
the Austrian monk said
over coffee
in the guest's parlour
after lunch,

indeed he is
the colonel said
eyeing the monk
with age eyes,

the monk tapped
his chest
to indicate
where God lay,

I watched them both
adding nothing
just listening half heartedly
taking in the colonel's
knuckly hands
time aged,

in His image made us
the old boy said,

I sipped my coffee
silent
like one
lost at sea.