Paler than See-through Vellum Decorated with Medieval Leaves and Gospel Writers
Perhaps he stands among the Celtic saints
As mystical as they with trees he killed.
They stand together, he, and trees, and haints
In chosen superstitions. Acorns tilled
By eons are a part holy ones
And him. A jealous God they worship. They
Are jealous too, these oaks and holy sons,
Are envious of his black curls. They play,
These tresses, in the sacred air where he
And saints and boughs consider joint prayers,
Still, silent as the Trappists who agree.
The dead ones and the trunks are like the stairs
Of Jacob. We outside their realm can trace
No chant from this illuminated place.
~ Phillip Whidden