the dew may soak thru
your morning shoes
and pickle your defenceless socks
later the same day
your reclaimed feet may kick
up a cast of mosquitoes
Passion-playing the angry mob
abuzz with that cry incomprehensible
“Crucify! Crucify!”
around your swimming head
your path may fold back
upon itself a dozen times
as if the labyrinth after hard rain
had overflowed its trim banks
and flooded all the fields
with its sly convoluted smile
but you really won’t get lost
if you don’t jump fences
here at the Ignatius Jesuit
(joyfully off-) Centre
you see,
there’s an inner compass on the land
including the part known as your heart
that forever points the needle
to the Rock in deepest invisible attraction…
and that’s what’s called round here
spiritual direction.
*Greg says that he is playing with his name
