Interview With St. Saviour.
I see traces of my lost sympathy for mortals
in the frost that denounces the leaf
such that it may be snapped.
the temperature is usually below ten
if my breath is suspended.
I turn to watch the mist roll on top
of the mountains in the distance.
I follow pieces of string that I dig up
in the back of the chook pen, as an act of
I am doing my best to get by
in your absence the angel sits beside me
in the windowsill and holds my forearm
when it looks as if I might be about to retrogress
and curse your name.
I wake up to planes flying over my roof
thinking that the war has come to my
it is comforting to know my local council
is opposed to nuclear disarmament.
I sit in the big chair to look out of the window
as haikus, sestinas, ballads and elegies
heap like manna from the sky.
I leave the water running now that I have
gone to all the effort of getting a wrench
from the garage.
though I am at your mercy, I politely ask
you call after my first coffee before lunch.
I am alert. I am not anxious. I smile to myself a lot.
After all, I am the patron saint of patience.