Dispatch #167

Guest poet: Father Ryan Sliwa

Father Ryan Sliwa

                  Ten Summer Lunes
                  & a coda of three haiku


sunrise so gentle
the tall grass
does not bend at all

     *

the day won't be much
till I raise
a Host over it

     *

five AM darkness
ennui
collapsing summer

     *

peonies prostrate
on the lawn
after the rainstorm

     *

as empty grape stems
tangled on
the forgotten plate

     *

pine needles ticking
like raindrops
on last autumn's leaves

     *

evening's viscous light
pours over
serrated mountains

     *

ink-black night bending
into blue
over perfect hills

     *

then Perseids go
dropping through
the night in bundles

     *

the moon fell west and
turned to ash
then the stars caught fire


     (Coda)

The noticed creak
          on wooden stairs:
                    intimation of autumn.

     *

   Warm sunlight balanced
on the tips of meadow grass:
           noontime Pentecost. 

     *

Past the morning dock            a silent loon.

Father Ryan Sliwa is the pastor of a suburban parish in Western Massachusetts; he was ordained in 2015. He is the author of a collection of meditations and sermons, New Nazareths in Us, from Cenacle Press. He has published poetry in North American Anglican and is forthcoming in Ekstasis.