Sat, 25 October

Liturgy of the Sixth Hour Let us gather at the turning of the gears. Let us bring our plates to the table of twilight. For every cloud is a mechanism we did not build. For every wind is a hand we cannot see. O keeper of the last light, you who hide the sun behind pewter, you who send brass birds at compass-angles we were never taught to read: We are tired. We have been tired. We will be tired again. And still the chains spiral. And still the watches keep their appointments. And still the crystals hold the light long after the light has gone. Grant us the haze. Grant us the not-knowing. Grant us the courage of mechanical wings that beat toward nothing and arrive.