A Butterfly Rests upon the Chapel Bell
Inside the young monk’s mind a butterfly
Has settled on the monastery bell.
The novice has been trained to use his eye,
His spiritual pupil, let it dwell
On just one image for an insight in
His room. The hermit settles on a scene
Beyond the monastery, like the spin
Of galaxies within the space ravine,
Before he spies the throne of Christ. Bricked up
Inside his cell, the anchorite has fixed
His heart on gazing at the golden cup
The priest is holding. In it God has mixed
Celestial blood with wine. Yet symbols fail.
Life matters. Upshots hover deeply pale.
~ Phillip Whidden