The consolation of Simeon and Anna

The tilted earth
the crooked world
progresses on its pilgrim path
each moment comes connected to the last

the swallow has built of mud
a home above the crown of a temple colonnade
to lay young
dawn alights from height to height

consolation rests on these who have aged
half-cracked by reckless hope,
by clinging with both hands to an impossible thing
people from whose conversation
passers-by find the quickest exit

consolation like a fair morning
after days of rain in the hills
rain on high places
running down deep scars
thundering through dry beds
livening

as if an endless, weary orbit were suddenly to be made straight
as if everything you ever sought were brought past where you sat

as if in the lightning and the storm of Sinai
the terror wailing across an Egyptian night
the cloud, the fire, blinding glory
is a father, a mother-love rendered by a child 

in whose image is your own