Far Off Inside My Head Mmclxxi Poem by Terry Collett

Ego in domo Dei,

the abbey on a hill
surrounded by high trees
the spire reaching
finger-like heavenward,

la natura dell'essere
the Italian monk said
dimostrato da Cristo,

I hoovered the cloisters
with the hoover
whereas old monks
swept with a big broom
for centuries
there efforts
took more time
but less noise,

Dom Charles showed
how to pluck apples
from the trees
and to save the fruit
undamaged by wrong picking
he said to me
late afternoon
before the office
of None,

she had me
where she wanted
and come she said
enter as a ship
into harbour or port
so I did,

Dieu sait tout
the French monk said
as we tidied book
in the large library
of the abbey,

ohne Gott sind
wir als nichts
the Austrian monk said
I listened to him
as we prepared the altar
for the Mass
and laid out
gowns for the priest-monks,

I lay on my bed
and watched
the sky colour change
from blue to dark blue
a bell tolling for Vespers,

necesse est dolor
de peccato non autem
infinita distractione
said St Bernard
so I read,

I wanted her
and tongued
her sweet valley
as she spread
her wings for me,

sauf nos propres pensées
il n'y a absolument
rien en notre pouvoir
said Gareth
quoting Descartes
as we walked
to the refectory
for lunch after
the office of sext,

incense in
the air I breathed
in the church
leftover from Mass
mixed with the smell
of baked bread,

a voice sounds near
or far off
inside my head.