venture no. 5
I memorized the cure for restlessness. It is most rigorously yellowed by highlighter ink in my copy of St. Augustine’s Confessions. I speak it to myself and know where to run, and yet I keep having to fight to be still. So much else competes for my peace, and I want to try them all before I allow myself rest. I need the Father’s jealous hand to hush me with Heaven again.
It takes shatterings.
Many heavy shatterings, because
The hallowing needs to hush them.
Loud, lying lovers – reveling in jactation;
Fraudulent food their famine feast.
The breaking came and showed beauty to the
Abysmally satisfied. Tenderness wrecked all imitations
Of the real gem –it wasn’t you after all.
Look, this –yesterday’s fallow flounderer now
Heaves for heaven. Sleepless seeker
Silenced by a strange undoing of death
Still we beg more
Crushing –flint-faced ruin races to
Win over the widening white.
Rend more busy shadows hard embraced for
A true sort of quiet.