Reflections for

Trinity Sunday, Jun 11, 2017

Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Psalm 8; 2 Corinthians 13:11-13; Matthew 28:16-20

Poetry

Creation

He peoples the darkness with stars:
Eyes in all that vastness.
He stores sunlight in his tabernacle
Meting out each day enough to gladden
The trees and moons with their changing
Colors. Vestments over land and sea.

Space is a trellis in his garden.
He scatters organelles, pods, bulbs,
Protozoa, spermatozoa, ovaries
All bursting into blossom. Every womb
Awaits the coronation of its birth.
Stone fruits and star apples.

The universe plays his tune-book.
He breathes sacred airs
Obbligatos, cantatas, Sephardic chants.
The seasons speak through him:
The timbrels of spring, the blare of high summer,
Fall’s blue cello, winter’s gusty pipe organ.
Angel rapture and our plainsong.

Poetry

After Psalm Eight

From the terrace, I can see the work
of your fingers: the constellation Perseus,
his sword, trailing the sea,
fixed against the sky. The masterwork
of light which lingers on the surface
of the sea transfixes me.

The nightfall has blurred the place
where your fingers bind ocean to air.
Stepping off the dock, I shiver
against the water, unmindful of my face,
hushed and pale and unaware.
And, who am I—quivering—

that you would give me heed?
A moon-jelly ribboning beneath my feet
glows faint like a ghost,
its green light tangled in the weeds.

 

Revised Common Lectionary © 1992 the Consultation on Common Texts. Used by permission.