THIRTY-THIRD SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME
by Brendan Kennelly
Begin again to the summoning
to the sight of light at the window,
begin to the roar of morning traffic
along the Pembroke Road.
Every beginning is a promise
born in light and dying in dark
and exaltation of springtime
flowering the way to work.
Begin the pageant of queuing
the arrogant loneliness of swans in
bridges linking the past and the
old friends passing through with us
Begin to the loneliness that cannot
end since it perhaps is what makes us begin,
begin to wonder at unknown faces
at crying birds in the sudden rain
at branches stark in the willing
at seagulls foraging for bread
at couples sharing a sunny secret
alone together while making good.
Though we live in a world that
dreams of ending
that always seems about to give in
something that will not
insists that we forever begin.
Father Bill +