Susanna and the Elders

Let us put thought aside
and imagine a pool
clear, water smooth as the
cheek of a still moment.
Hide it in a nest of fern fronds
above the grass, beneath the trees.
What balance, delicate,
quiet as a caught breath,
sustains interlaced images
grown used to each other.

Now stir the depths and produce
the shape of a girl, she wears
the air of innocent youth,
nude of course (please do not
escape into fantasy, we have
more work to do), she worships
the secret soul of the place,
the tension tightens but her nakedness
keeps the harmony unbroken.
She smiles at herself, then
shatters the mirror with her foot,
joins the pool up to her breasts.
Shadows hold their breath,
trees, flowers, ferns and water
wait for the spirit to speak
and with its silence become a
garland in the ritual of the unexplored.
(Now comes the bad part.) Like trumpets
of triumph the brassy eyes of the Elders
tumble the walls of privacy and a
startled gasp erects no shelter.
Communion bread molds, wine sours,
innocence finds no wilderness
safe from barbarians’ hands.