by Pavel Chichikov
Each day they wait for Noah’s rain to stop,
The sky grows even darker, forty nights
In one could not be so, the anvil tops
Of clouds swell up, explode in raven height
Mind and soul, expelling God, go out,
One by one the worlds extinguished die,
Each human light surrenders to its doubt,
Drowned into a black eternity
One light to the other far and pale
Vanishes, four candles at the altar
Dwindle in a gust of smoke and fail –
Reason to itself begins to falter
Then the last, the vigil light grows dim
But all the others must take light from Him
(See Pavel's new book, Mysteries and Stations, here.)
