Bosch Poem

Welcome to a sanctified place

was in essence what they said to me,

not with their hands or their lips,

but their twinkling eyes,

the timid soul come forth

out of every cavernous exile

and right up to the window to behold,

in this place

guarded and free,

the faces of the friends,

and it was here that I’d experience

the rob of my pain,

the momentary lifting of the cloud

to reveal my soul in its fetters,

the terrific gouge of the Visitation Tablet

releasing me for moments from my binding,

to go into the bathroom

heaving and sobbing

and with emerald eyes

surrounded by red flesh

glowing with disgust and revelation,

with deep penance and absolved

grains of pain within my heart,

and I washed up and dragged paper towel

across my face and sat outside

and felt so ravaged,

inside and out,

by the summons of my God

that I could hardly breathe.

Welcome to a sanctified place

is what they said to me

with the purity of their eyes,

and I knew love in their gaze,

whenever it was on me.

There was no trouble, nor broken time,

but the long and lofty Path

opened up before my eyes

for the very first time.