All Saints Convent, Catonsville, Maryland
The thrown arms of the cloister
draw evening’s thin sleeve of light
along the nave. Under those black
vaults, high fans scissor and one
candle cup hangs, white sustenance,
tangent to the moon.
Without, the brought dogs soar
on their tethers but the fleet
deer, still hungry, escape. New webs
gleam empty in the lilied fields,
though here with us was that reach met,
and the little hours kept all day to their intervals.
Owls cast from the hunched trees.
Together late, we rich few are full up.
from Inside Spiders
Copyright © Persea Books 2013
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