1.
Come, this is no time
to be time, swagger
of morning through the trees,
no time to be now,

this is the pilgrimage
and by definition
it cannot end.
                            That woman
lying on the lawn,
that man reading beside her,

these are no pilgrims,
a pilgrim is never here,
here is the perilous place,
the Massachusetts of the mind.

2.
What could he be reading,
pilgrims read only the road,
the crows above them
guiding them carefully,
fork by fork through the dividing earth,
turn this way, my love,
the bird cries out
at every crossroads, signposts
in the sky, hurry, hurry,
here is at your heels.

3.
She sleeps, he reads–
her choice is wiser.
Dream is scary enough
without the paper.
And even if he’s reading
some old book, the words
are still dangerous—
the peril of reading is
thinking you’re thinking.

4.
But what does the lawn think?
That’s what our science
should be studying, this thingly earth
and how it answers us.
But no, all they care about
is why Cicero hated Catiline
or why the moon has spots.

5.
See, motive means moving,
and only pilgrims move.

Crow-blessed, weary-hipped,
they go and they go.

Come back soon
says every place they pass

but they never will,
even if they stumble down those

same cobblestone streets again
it will always be for the first time.

Pilgrim is a person with no again.

6.
Give me a spoon
and a cup of water,
cool or not it
doesn’t matter
so I can sip it
slow so slow—
I love the way
even at the bottom
the spoon can still
lip up a little water.
I’ll drink it on my way
and pray for you
who filled the cup
and all the miles to come
will cherish the spoon.

That’s the hymn I heard
some pilgrims sing
as they shuffled past
my oaken table
out on the sidewalk
where I sat to imagine
better versions of
all those passing by.
The pilgrims shamed me
with heir simple plea.
All I knew was a pen and a fork.

7.
Am I there yet?
You always are.
Do I like it here?
You’ll never know.
What religion in this place?
Thunder and rain.
Will they let me stay or make me go?
They do not know the difference — do you?

8.
She wakes up now,
he shuts his book.

Now the difficulties start,
they have come back to a world
with no going in it,

the lawn keeps talking
but they will not listen.

They stand up and walk
hand in hand into some house.
They seem to be smiling.

A passing pilgrim pities them,
says a prayer or two for them,
keeps going on the way.

                                   8 August 2020