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Portrait of the Artist as a Lone Tree

Faith

Contents Page 139About

Conception

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This is a room; a room has walls and doors
and windows. All are shut for sake of love,
and every tender instinct that we trust
tells us to give to God conception’s key.
This is a troubled time for you and me;
and knowing as we do no simple lust
but rather, stronger powers from above,
through marriage we enjoy eternal laws.

So close and only one in touch and thought,
reaching to feel each other’s minds inside -
much more than that which captivates the crowd,
unknown to those who worship all their will.
For we were keeping covenant until
unspoiled by all the noise and braying loud
that shows the soul inside has surely died,
we found each other’s love was all we sought.

Since holiness is making whole a life,
making complete the purpose of our powers,
then this is just another thing we do
that worships our Creator in the light;
in grace, there is no longer wrong or right,
but only love. For shame we never knew -
and so we count not minutes yet or hours,
completely unified as man and wife.

Everything stops; there’s nowhere left to go -
completed, but still holding moments near.
Strange beauty makes its entrance in the gloom;
I turn my head to stare, and watch unseen
a spirit floating slowly in between
the window and the wonder of her womb,
whose love I hold most intimate and dear.
And all at once, instinctively, I know.

This simple thing, all tiny light and bright
brings peace, and joy, and love without a spot.
She is the evening warmth that seals the day
with memories of kindness and of calm.
She is a creature none should ever harm,
the sainted baby sent to light the way
radiant both from counterpane and cot,
whose smiles can banish misery and night.

“You’re pregnant, dear,” I said. “The tests will say
it couldn’t have occurred another day.”

Contents Page 139About

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