On the bank of the Hudson
in early summer,
outside flows into Matins
as grand silence breaks.
Birdsong penetrates monastery walls,
the shoreline train's chug and whistle.
Sounds of the world intermix
with the meditative chants
of brothers in the chapel.
The next day when the bronze bell calls,
I worship in the courtyard
alone with an ancient oak.
Church, bell tower and tree
hug me on three sides,
the fourth side opens to a panorama
of fields, woods and water.
I sit on a weathered bench.
Birds flit, limb to branch, away.
Feathers flare — a cardinal flash on green.
A commuter train rumbles on the track.
The stone walls shake psalms and liturgy.
Light crackles on the tidal gray river,
sounds of morning echo.
Tree and I drift on the harmonies
of birds, river and brothers.


This poem first appeared in Beneath the Rainbow (May 2019).
Used here with permission.