Think of the difference that sets saints apart
as a tree’s age, and that age, not as time,
but what encircles them, the ring radiating out
beyond earth’s seasonal griefs, beyond a shooting star’s
evaporating ice trail, at which perspective
it is perceived in the cross section to be the iris of God.
It’s this knowledge of who’s watching—not to strike
the ledgers for every time they misspoke
or forgot a birthday, but to bring them sight
even in the dark—which the world mistakes
for otherworldliness. Yet as they walk the trails,
they kick up dust like any puppy playing in the dirt
and approach with ease, everyone, especially the lost,
translating air into light, finest threads of grace
woven into the thickest shawl, a comfort to those
who have sought, for so long, a sun so slow burning,
its fires leave no measurable trace in the telescopes.
Yet they claim none of this as their own. Instead,
they call it a gift, what they accepted on a day
like any day at the office, but the one that
changed their lives. That’s why when others
of their kind come into orbit, their paths chime
with a gratitude that reaches back to the first day
and resonates, returning to the present, gathering
the clarity of all the clear skies from the beginning.
And so, wherever they are, which is not usually
church, but talking with a neighbor by the fence
or at a local bar, their words unfold like wings, birds
flying off in every direction to overtake the horizons,
carrying an invitation to any who would join them.
Michael T. Young’s third full-length collection, The Infinite Doctrine of Water, was longlisted for the Julie Suk Award. His previous collections are The Beautiful Moment of Being Lost and Transcriptions of Daylight. He received a fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts. His chapbook, Living in the Counterpoint, received the Jean Pedrick Chapbook Prize. His poetry has been featured on Verse Daily and The Writer’s Almanac. It has also appeared or is forthcoming in numerous journals, including PINYON, Talking River Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, and Vox Populi.
Image: “Parked” by Alex J. Tunney
Pine Hills Review 