Transcribed Text

And I begin to be in death. And you - no swans for guides, no gingerbread house No metamorphosis or curse attending, but a plain country road and smoke going up like no one's hope. But hope, a human at hope's end, knocks, listens, this side or that, a door. Possible, the sing-song goes, probable, not yet, and sesame.When I pass into your lives or you in mine, the still life trembles - still birth or quick? God knows. We know only in loss. My son lies like an oak recumbent, not yet rotten of whom a house is made. People and children I stand here breaking a loaf to beggar men, hearing the whine of ineffectuals, hearing like the pulled bow of the universe, the tide and fury - Paul said--Broken Bread, a broken house-- one great loaf, rent and eaten, RESURRECTION.from To the Women of Immaculate Heart, a poem and no persuasion Mary speaks Good Friday night Daniel Berrigangutspeoplelike us