Autumn Testament (1)
As I come down the hill from Toro Poutini’s house
My feet are sore, being bare, on the sharp stones
And that is a suitable penance. The dust of the pa road
Is cool, though, and I can see
The axe of the moon shift down behind the trees
Very slowly. The red light from the windows
Of the church has a ghostly look, and in
This place ghosts are real. The bees are humming loudly
In moonlight in their old hive above the church door
Where I go in to kneel, and come out to make my way
Uphill past a startled horse who plunges in the paddock
Above the nunnery. Now there are one or two
Of the tribe back in the big house—What would you have me do,
King Jesus? Your games with me have turned me into a boulder.
Copyright Credit: James K. Baxter, "Autumn Testament (1)" from Selected Poems. Copyright © 2010 by The James K. Baxter Trust. Reprinted by permission of Carcanet Press, Ltd.
Source: Collected Poems (Oxford University Press, Ltd., 1979)