De Domino Augusti
He draws the bow. He casts the pestilence.
He sends the wolves to clear dead flesh away.
He speaks in what fools call a double sense
But tells the truth that rules the crucial day.
Though clouds link arms, his sun will have its say.
Though noise grow loud, his music will resound.
His daughters know there’s heavy work in play.
His prophets know his calmness will astound.
And, when doubts most insistently abound,
That’s when his hand is surest on the string.
High soars the shaft above this broken ground.
He doesn’t need to reign as heaven’s king.
He doesn’t even need our worship when
He is the inner sky’s first citizen.