Good Friday - Priming Softwood

April 11, 2020

Reward creates itself as each ephemeral orison.

I bear a brush make sweeps nor much precision

Not my best lot, but I am taught of hardihood some pains

This revet corner naked wood sets in a dint imprisoned

A quibbling niche obstructing the rough bristle stuck

Against again – once more – beware – don’t blench - don’t waver,

And succour trouble...

Shore -up, and nerve, invest instead – go ply and ply

Collected and insistent - morsels missed do not deliver

Solicitudes against invidious winter rain -

And so I settle to accrue slow-pace and better measure

So, by and by, reiterate - go giving thus and thus

Coating by trial, at admonintory angles

By regulated compass make persuasion to intrude

I hope hereto by strategy, by simple patience ask,

Cede nature’s hard-regard as Love’s commodious agency;

Who moves His Providence that issue true translations

My candid work of care, levied with studied impact

To accord award; afford me one unheld reversion

I make this work a prayer, and of my menial mortal store

A prayer nonetheless, my hand the careful circles brush

A wand of service this Good Friday, voluntary weft

That gives my sign its line, its final edge-of-blade conviction,

The Lord of Life pronounces Presence even in smallest things

In a garden shed’s conserving, or in tales richly told of Rings