Of God Himself can no man truly think;
Creator He, beyond all human thought;
yet questing intellect oft scans the brink
of what of Him may yet, in truth, be sought;
In later years,
seated around a huge fire,
crackling and spitting on a snowy night,
the best beer in Europe frothing from the jug,
Their wives were not too keen about it all:
beyond the call of duty, so it seemed;
for, if they read the heavens' portents so well,
what need of proof, of presence at the scene?
our deepest being is that which observes:
which watches, far beyond all forms of thought,
as hand and tool and all the senses serve
to find and make new things; or shine at sport;
In the deepening dusk of forest glade,
in the mist of clouds rolling over the high hills,
in the sea-fog rolling in at turn of tide,
what feature of its form alerts us first
He said, that Allah had cursed thrice Afghanistan;
cursed it with those curses, which all evil men
see as their life’s blessings:
The cry goes up…
making atheists out of believers,
believers out of atheists…
The door creaks as she opens it
and the fall of the heavy iron latch
echoes through the empty church.
Alarm clock. The sun rises.
The buses, railways, flights are running.
There’s a bottle of milk on the doorstep.