Lent in the Desert

by David Chorlton
 
One wing brushes morning light
from the rocks along the high trail
and the other reaches
for a hold in the air
as he flies through Lent,
coming daily to the mountain
which exists beyond faith and fasting.
The hawk follows
                          paths as invisible as God.
He doesn’t know the way to Heaven.
It never rains there.
And seldom in this desert
where the brittlebush is blooming and
the portals of the Earth
are open.
              They offer just
a narrow space through which
to pass, appearing as the entrance to
an arroyo where the thorns shine
and stones speak to each other
of their long and arduous
journeys through high tide
and flood
               to their own
tiny portion of eternity. They are just
the beginning; one day
they will rise on  thermals
to the height where nothing is impossible.