Arcana Mundi
Everywhere doors stand open, everywhere
we dispose—with trouble—
of the familiar. A mockingbird
squawks and swoops to her nest in the tangled wild rose.
Strawberries hang, half ripe, hollowed by birds.
All day I’ve waited in vain for some message, some
accusation. Somewhere the sea turns
its salt wounds toward the sun. Somewhere
saints fall to their knees on carved marble. Here, clouds,
then stars, obscure the seven heavens.
The Boar flees through its haze, the Hunter moving low.
Cherry tree under their feet stripped of its fruit.
Look how the world whose mysteries I meant
to reveal to you, thing by thing,
lowers its seven veils and lets us stare.
—Bruce Beasley
—found in The Creation (1994)