Forty leaves fell from a tree

as Jesus fought for victory

Forty ships left their coast

as Israel perished in the waste

Forty tears upon a wall

that saved a city from its fall.

Forty suns passed silently

as Noah sheltered in the sea

Forty steps in solitude

before the exile heard his Lord

Forty, less one, were the stripes

that chastened evil from my life

Forty clouds fortelling rain

before the wind from heaven came

Four hundred stones in Egypt’s land

show where sin in power stands

Four warm nights in Israel’s home

before the Lamb removed the stone.

I walk on the earth

through the spring grass

and the red soil of summer,

the breeze on my back,

high above the marble sun,

throwing its light on the grasslands,

forests and hills.

That night I watched my son sleeping.

The hall light lit the room.

Near his head the window was

blanketed by a blue curtain.

The sky lay distant outside.

I thought of my childhood room

and of my fathers.

I am the Lord, the God of Abraham,

your father, and the God of Isaac,

the land on which you lie I will

give to you and to your descendants.

The breeze touched the trees

the flowers and my flesh

reminding us of evening.

Like petals the light fell

and was blown away

past grass and road and wall.

In the park the shroud took its

place among the silent trees.

Insects swarmed in clouds.

For a long time I have been uncomfortable with creating.

Since becoming a Christian I have feared God’s law.

It has been easier to read or think than to make.

I’ve been like the Jews who had for thousands of years

kept within the circle of their knowledge.

God created the world and it was good.

We are each conceived in an act of love.

The boy Jesus listened and asked questions

and saw the world freshly.

The afternoon grows tired.

Sunlight revives things in the morning.

Advancing trees frozen on the hillside

Drizzle as far as my window

Night’s overhanging burden

Soil wet with life

Sheets of cloud in majesty passed the moon,

the black sky a sea of space unknown and vast,

the moon a torch head, cold, filtering the sweeping

veils of cloud in blue-green light.

Airborne hosts moving towards their distant

war, the high clouds still, beyond the wind,

the marble earth cold with fallen rain.

Fever pitched, his ears stood high as he ran

past grasses, concrete and smells of the night.

The lead was taught as I followed, breathless.

The ancient, foreign sounds of his species –

the trail of scent and quickly learned familiarity,

a narrow passage to safety.

Near the house he stopped, suddenly distracted.

His eyes were lit by the call of his wildness.

The new moon wakes in

evening sky

It shines upon the clover

Children climb on the fence

Pale black trees stand by

The stars watch from their home

The cool night breathes

We leave to take shelter

a stone,

a blowing leaf,

a pierced heart,

a shining spear,

a dark one,

a joy unrestrained

by the earth