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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Bones of the Snow

God’s catechism is so white and silent.
I am given the wafer of its communion.
Light enters the lens of my soul
above an altar of salt
and stone.
He puts candles where angels
see my remains.
I hear his psalms.

He is watching the snow fall.
He is traveling the road I travel.
His heart aches with my heart.
His feet are tired.
He has forgotten the words I’ve forgotten,
my prayers.
He gropes for names.

His being washes into the sea.
Every snowflake is a breath I’ve drawn,
a thought I’ve suffered.
A star I found at my feet.
The snow covers him as it covers me.
Immaculate.
A cantata.

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