Sunrise At Rievaulx Poem by Denise Antoni

Whorled stone, enwombed in time's green curves.
Along a knotted cord of path

Expectant aconites bloom, trembling white-clad girls
Crouched beside the midwife earth.

Ancient prayer - secret seedpod - in the unregarded hour unfurls
Towards the day of reckoning.

Among the dark snarls of old wood leaves like new tongues uncurl,
Ripen towards the sun's beckoning.

Wind strikes the waiting tinder of trees, flamed to witness
Through the long years, on and on.

Treading this overture of mazed vault and buttress
To hear the matins bell of birdsong,

The faithful seasons attend to their graceful anointing,
Tracing and re-tracing the broken motif.

Gathered over the cradled bend of lacy garth, clouds pointing
Shining fingers towards night's thief,

And dipping before the shimmered orison, green candles catch
The light and burn their appointed hour.

Arching to a high horizon the threshold's constant watch
Confirms nothing is forsaken here.

The day is coming.