Sermon on the wall mounting, by Matt Harvey

A few inches above the skirting-board
it sits. A socket. Ready for a plug
to be inserted. Which will have a cord
that stretches to the heater on the rug.
Look. Three accommodating oblong holes.
The top one longer than the other two.
One in. One out. One earth. Their humble goal's
to let the electricity come through.
Three holes. A small domestic Trinity.
Three aspects of the power that is the Source.
Which may be likened to Divinity.
Which in those Star Wars films was called The Force.

In this material world how very odd
to find a socket leads us back to God. 

From The Hole in the Sum of My Parts, ISBN 0-9550910-0-4

The Slip, by Wendell Berry

The river takes the land, and leaves nothing.
Where the great slip gave way in the bank
and an acre disappeared, all human plans 
dissolve. An aweful clarification occurs
where a place was. Its memory breaks
from what is known now, and begins to drift.
Where cattle grazed and trees stood, emptiness
widens the air for birdflight, wind, and rain.
As before the beginning, nothing is there.
Human wrong is in the cause, human
ruin in the effect - but no matter;
all will be lost, no matter the reason.
Nothing, having arrived, will stay.
The earth, even, is like a flower, so soon
passeth it away. And yet this nothing
is the seed of all - heaven's clear
eye, where all the worlds appear.
Where the imperfect has departed, the perfect
begins its struggle to return. The good gift
begins again its descent. The maker moves
in the unmade, stirring the water until
it clouds, dark beneath the surface,
stirring and darkening the soul until pain
perceives new possibility. There is nothing
to do but learn and wait, return to work
on what remains. Seeds will sprout in the scar.
Though death is in the healing, it will heal.