The Winter Bishop

.

.

“may the Lord turn His face upon thee

granting you peace

bringing

all earthly woes to an end—

pray thou wilt take thee to thine

house.”

The jar tips

Over.

A bishop and a knight

count

some coins . . .

One coughs, the other sighs

Gris Silencio . . .

Count uno, dos, tres

Father, son; ghost.

Gris Silencio . . .

“but my faith is filling with

air.”

One coughs, “up, up—it’s floating away!”

The other sighs,

Silencio gris . . .

The organ.  Toll bells.  Silencio gris . . .

“Oh poor brother Tomás!”

The bishop cries.

Gris silencio . . .

“together my son

we must

ask . . . heavenly

father are you

there . . .?”

. . .

silencio

gris

silencio

. . .

Luther leaves.

Outside though,

High Above.

Miles, Flying, Hovering,

Created Amongst the Grey Clouds

Down

down

Down

drifting (softly)

dipping back

down

. . . . . . . . . diagonally

white

starshaped and delicate

a

snowflake lands

down

upon the

bishop’s freezing soul . . .

it

later

melts.

. . .

¡silencio!

.

.

.

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