WHERE TO GO MCMLXXI

A YOUTH IN AN ABBEY IN 1971 HAUNTED BY A WOMAN

Dom Frederick's book
of the old abbey
I had read
the abbey closed
by Henry VIII,  

the new abbey
was my sanctuary
since my first arrival,

et habitaverunt ibi,

George sickened
for the warmer weather
the cold saddened him,

she kissed my pecker
to a new life
some other guy's wife,

for the sake of silence
we ought to abstain
even from good talk
Benedict said,

I picked a cabbage
for the midday lunch
and smelt the mint nearby,

birdsong woke
the gardens and me,

Hugh him of thin frame
moaned of the number
of books on my shelf
even the Hopkins poems
got his goat,

Dieu est à mes yeux,

in my sight
and what I saw,

on the seashore
by the abbey
we threw stones
along the incoming tide
and Dom Joe(Bunny dear) smiled,

and again she said
deeper deeper,

we become what we love
and who we love shapes
what we become
said Clare (saint) that is,

the French peasant monk
cut the tall grass
with a skill
I didn't have
his scythe swung wide,

travailler à prier
he said,

Dom Patrick spoke softly
about the sweeping
and washing
of the refectory floor
and how it was done
and I did as he said,

God is the indwelling
not the transient cause
of all things Gareth said
quoting Spinoza
as we walked
from the abbey orchard
to the cloister,

I kissed her breasts
each in turn
as she had said
in her big double bed,

the bell tolled
from the church
for the office of Terce,

Dio è nelle mie orecchie
the Italian monk said,

I watched the monks walk
towards the church
and I walked also,

I am lost I mused
where to go?