Broken as Bread   Leave a comment

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When I moved back to Oxford, MS, where I was born, and entered the farm land where I would live, onto the property that was once my great-grandparents, “It was like a church to me. I entered it on soft foot, breath held like a cap in the hand. It was quiet. What God there was made himself felt . . . I walked on, simple and poor, while the air crumbled and broke on me generously as bread.”

The Moor
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God there was made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In a movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart’s passions – that was praise
Enough; and the mind’s cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
~ From the Collected Poems of R. S. Thomas

 

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Posted February 25, 2016 by ouidaofs in Joy, Peace

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