I could never answer your question, Who will save me from this body of death?
I never thought the body as a snare, more
A full moon waning and waxing through
Its own course and time.
Isn’t this the body
with an expendable organ removed
And placed in a hazmat container for safe
Disposal, removed for relief from indigestion
Or remorse; the body adopts, pivots.
The body wears thin as a membrane,
Eventually brittle, sensitive to touch and pain.
Weakness settles in the heart, lungs and legs.
Eventually eyes and ears dim;
I can’t hear any chirping, but I
Hold fast to music and lyric.
The body ravaged and sanctified
Through fits and turns, passions
And betrayals. It desires passage
From phase to phase.
Divine Property LXVIII: Favorite Bird
Red winged black bird what was wrong
With my limb parallel to the pond
Your delight seemed tinged in grace
But you threshed out your breath and
Flew away like a spiked spirit
Penetrating night with a flamed tongue
Asking questions of me that only you
Can answer where you find me
Looking at the surface of water
Filmed over with your black feathers.
Tim Gavin is an Episcopal priest, serving as a chaplain in Newton Square, Pennsylvania. Prolific Press published his chapbook Lyrics from the Central Plateau. His poems have appeared in The Anglican Theological Review, Blue Mountain Review, Chiron Review, Evening Street Review, Poetry South, and others.