A Lenten Fast

I’ve given up thinking for Lent.
Too much energy has been spent
on that word ‘thought’
which always seems to come up
short.

Crazed northern lights are jazzing in my head
made mad by solar flares
and dancing like spring hares
their eyes and blood all red.

I’m just going to sit and watch the show
and care not to know why
there’s this titanic tug
between my little leaping mind
and that performing sky.

I shall just see
and feel
and be
and clap my grizzled hands
with childlike glee.

From My Mother is an Old Elephant, available here.

Balaam, from My Mother is an Old Elephant

I rest under no roof.
I am the dusty traveller,
the journey, the road,
the pothole and the hoof.
I am Balaam and the voice I hear
is my breathing creature
plodding on,
eating straw,
seeing angels.