Monday, January 11, 2010

St. Theodosius the Cenobiarch

with a voice as smooth

as honey and whiskey


your echoes reached every

conch shell ear

blooming in your cave


all those monks with

hands clasped, eyes to

the dirt floor, hard as

rock from all the prayer

and pacing, all the weight

of your admirers


when they called upon you

the locusts buzzed and buzzed

and in one moment

complete silence


a field of tiny bodies

all on their backs

feet poised to walk on the sun


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