by Jane Kenyon
I was reading about rationalism,
the kind of thing we do up north
in early winter, where the sun
leaves work for the day at 4:15
Maybe the world is intelligible
to the rational mind;
and maybe we light the lamps at dusk
Then I heard the wings overhead.
The cats and I chased the bat
in circles—living room, kitchen,
pantry, kitchen, living room...
At every turn it evaded us
like the identity of the third person
in the Trinity: the one
who spoke through the prophets,
the one who astounded Mary
by suddenly coming near.
please note: art by Henry Ossawa Tanner