Ground zero

Poem by Jonathan Wooding

Rain is all mist without fall, and
mottled with grey motions, the sky.
There’s a sea-roar in that fruitless sycamore,

and eucalyptus leads the cheer, throwing
jackdaws in streaming perichoresis
about a pale, unblooded sky.

The stars are outshone by this grey earth –
not a trace of last week’s meteor-shower –
and the sun’s moonish alteration eclipsed too

by this scallop-shell of cloud cover.
One says zero is our maximum – why not? –
imperishable, irreducible – no question.

We would not hear God’s silence
were our noise here below with meaning.
Never not need to pray – unquenchable

instinct; heart, soul, strength
and mind, building a meeting-house from open air
and poetry without words.

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