The Pilgrimage, Book II: Part 18 / Phillip Neal Tippin
Lord, help me embark
On the great foregoing.
(Luke 16:1-17)
The upward movement
Is lateral.
The sacrament of Sunday,
In its unveiling of the Eighth.
The images lost
In the myriad frames.
Almost no other weather
Drifts into dreams like snow,
A latent desire dusted
On drowsy winter fields,
And, when on hope’s predilection
It blows, fills up all my hollows.
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