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Funeral of Queen Mary

  • 09 July 2006

Morning and turbulent dreams in the chapel lies a dead child knight I am holding his small marble hands he tells me hush, hush. I open my eyes to stillness.

Out there its Elizabethan white frost on the silver roof crows, bare branches wood and wings—one sleek drama glistening. Winter. Tallis scholars sing from the clock radio thou knowest lord the secrets of our hearts for the funeral of Queen Mary.

Processional. Black trains trail, sweep brush through the bright snow. Let the ice tears be shed.

And here has happened a rare and secret thing a december mystery a late arrival in this room last night doors were unlocked and some sweet tenderness ushered in. Your face wakes quietly a new reign has come today.