September - Bruce Moody

[Larry Robinson]

September
 
 
September first comes round in my cold knees.
In voices from the next room, and the body
radiant from a shower.
 
September comes with the tinnitus of country silence,
the blue bay that keeps things still.
 
The uselessness of success in spiritual practice
seems lasting. But that’s such a weak account
of the even weaker failure of weakness.
 
For the fact is if I can’t offer half an hour
to the One who gave me life…
if I can’t listen for even half an hour for Him…
if I can’t offer the One a half hour of gratitude for that…
then immodesty has no limit.
 
You hear what I am saying, I know.
I am not someone who so treasures his every mood
that he must thrust each precious slice into you,
and I don’t feel bad at all here. I feel good.
Because I know you’re listening.
Maybe.
 
May Be. The mediation, the message, is:
the embryo of glee.
 
In September it starts to stir.
Before the end – just watch it –
it wants to be born,
once more.
 
 
	- Bruce Moody
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