Lime green grass gives way to
black green trees
through t he knuckled
apple tree whose fruit fell years ago
i spy the magpie bury itself in
the wood behind the monastry.
the monotony of prayer lights
from within this moment
and makes it still, eternal/
the colour here will never fade
nor the tree be felled
the magpie rests a memory
forever. Amen
L. Ivison copyright 2025
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