Elijah’s Crossing

Poem by Jonathan Wooding

i.m. Graham Shaw, (1944-2021), author, teacher, priest, friend

There, at the footbridge, in Lublin province,
Kacyzne’s* camera finds Elijah out,
his cap, his waistcoat, the shod foot lifted

back, crossing the river, a grey flame.
And working horses (the charcoal, the chestnut),
break for the silver waters running

beneath Elijah’s bridge. A barefoot girl
paddling, looks up from the white, from the black,
and sees him. He’s monochrome incarnate.

Here, in my province, I’ve flame-red
in the horse chestnut’s new growth.
The colour of birdcall is gold, I’d say,

and the purl and whirr of rivulet is crimson-star.
I’ll want deep colour, solar, phosphor, wine
-blood bruises for colourless vanishings.

Clear a space there, fill the glass, sit upon the ground
for Elijah, holding out his hand
to the uncreated light of the mind that tarries.

*Alter Kacyzne, photojournalist (1885-1941)

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