A new poem by Ross McCague

Blessed infant lie here
born in faith and unwitting instinct
while a fine youth contemplates your mother:
The fullness of nature and flow of kindness.
Far back a castle compound, some authority
assembled for the measure of itself.
The river finds its way through
as grace and hope is wont to do.
Some celestial chance breaks in,
Lightning traces a vein in the sky;
Flashes open the scene in a painter’s eye.
All below is suddenly itself, in view:
The flowing hair of youth, the ample breast,
Shouldering out every last excuse.