In a fourth garden

before dawn



I heard the soft sound of plain song

Gregorian chant

male voices raised

simply



moved around the dark buildings and found

their chapel whose windows

alight from within



thought I had found dawn's wellspring

roses, blues, greens, yellows

leaping from holes in the black brick

painting figures of long ago

painting their song

painting a dawn yet to come

Still dark and their voices have become silence

They move soundlessly

easily

bouyed by a peaceful calm

no exaggerated deference for the old

no exaggerated dominance of the young

no exaggerated success

no exaggerated charity to failure

each peaceful within himself

needing no fanfare of trumpets to

announce the coming of his rank

Acting as if they always found a stranger sitting in the dark

They invited me in



A morning meal, silence except for a lector

A simple meal, but more than just food

and myself lost

in a sea of brown cloth

hearing an inner voice of mine that I have

not heard before

to the wonder of discovery of me