Coronal

I park the car, descend

to the house, a wind

highballing it through

treetops. Stars-huge

van Gogh pinwheels-spin

across polished black

ceilings as cloud curtains

tear and fly.

Even

the Dog Star flares;

the Dipper, head up,

spills down its handle:

our creek, filled, brawls

its milky way into

the blazing lake ahead.

Suddenly it's as if

all our longings, all

those "needs of others" we

are to be "mindful of," were flung or snatched up

for display-fiery

cynosures of grace

fulfilled, wheeling through

what washes over,

under us.

SHELDON FLORY*

* Sheldon Flory is a regular contributor of verse to the Anglican Theological Review.

Copyright Anglican Theological Review, Inc. Winter 1999
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