Adherence to Pain and Truth of Elements
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Such things as small communion cups were not
What gray medieval monks could use as tools
In doing gilding on mild vellum. Fraught
With challenges imposed by physics’ rules
That hands had learned through prayer-like years
Of gilding manuscripts, the fingers worked
With drops of honey small as Christ-child tears
To be as calm despite where dangers lurked
Like high humidity to place the sheet
Of thinnest gold as reverently as God
Made Adam, placing there a sacred treat
Upon the page like heaven overawed.
The bees’ sweet drops helped stick the shine on skin
As if the cosmos never knew of sin.
~ Phillip Whidden