“In a Country Church,”
To one kneeling down no word came,
Only the wind’s song, saddening the lips Of the grave saints,
rigid in glass; Or the dry whisper of unseen wings,
Bats not angels, in the high roof. Was he balked by silence?
He kneeled long, And saw love in a dark crown Of thorns blazing,
and a winter tree Golden with fruit of a man’s body.
Model / MUA / Editing / BARBARA BOZZINI