Insomnia

Recall, my soul, at eventide
The mercies of the Lord
And how today when thou awok’st
They were to thee restored,
And when tomorrow findeth thee,
Renewed shall their expression be.

Confess, my heart, the debts thou ow’st
And rediscover peace.
Let not the sun go down upon
Just, faithful forgiveness.
Already Christ in vict’ry rose
O’er what thou shrinkest to expose.

Commit, my spirit, to his care
Thine own, and all thy woes,
Who all things worketh for thy good
And all things doth dispose.
For every trial thou dost face
He promiseth sufficient grace.

My soul, find rest in God above
When none is at thy bed.
Adoring and in suppliance,
In prayer be succorèd.
No pillow-talk could be as sweet
As when thou dost thy heav’n-mate meet.

—9/17/2022

The Boatman

Oh my boatman, where have you gone?
I looked for you at the ferry
At the place you used to cross
But none was there
It was abandoned, the ferry destroyed.
I asked the other boatmen
If they had seen you; they laughed
“A man of the river gone?
Perhaps he has followed it
Away from thee.”
I searched the battlefield
Picked bloody remains for my treasure
But you were not among the fallen
The buzzards claim you not more than I
I applied to the tents of the healers
To see if plague had consumed you
Many they see, few they remember
They did not know your face
I went down to every graveyard
Afraid to find a headstone
But no plot have I found that will hatch you
The ghosts do not name you there
Oh my boatman! where have you gone?
With you is my heart, with you my joy
Must I weep alone forever?

—On “Fear a' Bhàta”/“The Fields of Ard Skellig” 8/6/21 – 4/30/22