Holy Orders
I have a cool stone convent set inside
My mind. The only nun is me. I move
From cell to cell like flotsam on a tide
Whenever inspiration flows. I prove
The worth of this sensation or that thought
By testing it with images and lines.
The holiness is in the chanting caught
In ink and words. The Abbess who designs
The songs is sonnetry, a commandant
Demanding strict obedience. She stares
At what I write and points out every want
To be refined with penitential prayers.
..Our strictest robes have formal counting beads
….Required to fill my spiritual needs.