Fire (Patrick Triptych 2)

Here is my second of three poems I have written on St. Patrick. According to tradition, Patrick and his companions lit the Easter fire on the Hill of Slane in defiance of the high king and his druids. This was a key moment in his ministry.

FIRE

 

Surrounded by the silent prayers

of these good men you’ve given me,

eyes closed, a moment to embrace

this reverent darkness.

A spring breeze carries the scent

of carefully piled Wood,

ancient Trees past their prime,

waiting now

for Fire to make them something new.

 

Sinai, Golgotha, Tabor,

Law, Death, Transfiguration,

So many ways you have,

my God, to use a Mountain.

And what of Slane,

this Easter night?

a little bit of each, I think.

 

Tara will see our fire,

illumination in the night.

Trembling and intolerable dread will seize them,

and not so certain as they think themselves,

bearing swords and spells

they’ll come to execute their judgment.

Like deer eluding wolves,

alert weakness will find its shield in you.

 

Flame,

glowing precious stone and shining lamp,

this is your hour,

dancing in a copper cauldron,

ready now to light the far west of the world.