Transfiguration
Matthew 17. 1-9
Harvey S. Mozolak

figuring across 
staying in the mountain moment
pausing in the profound praise
basking in the blessing
some are led to such heights
at times and in places
occasional and isolated often
but as we are touched by the words
of the Word and taste his flesh
and are consumed by his life-blood
there are only
the days and land left
until the resurrection
among which Jesus walks
to figure a cross

walk in the woods
awaiting four inches

Harvey S. Mozolak

the snow has collected
in small depressions
where the bark is pulled away
from a trunk
in a pock of a rock
at a deep center to a pile of leaves
gathered against the wind
on the lateral limb
refusing to follow the rising tune of the tree
in the cleft of roots at the base
a large flake
flies at the window of my mind
lashes shutter shut
and a tear refuses the cold
even the wonder of some intricate impression
for the snow gathers simply a pall

precious the moments

Harvey S. Mozolak

no pallid pale passion
but plenty of pastel angels
they make a nativity
set with soft lambs
simple haloes like gold wedding rings
even children kneeling
in and before a ceramic
lovely-flowered cross
but no bodied wood
cold clay with dark stains
deep red swashes
and cracks showing in flesh
placed on bedroom bureaus
and family room knickknack shelves
among wishy-washy souvenirs
of the precious moments
of life before death

(reflection on another’s [Pr. L.P.] observation) 

cardinal
February 9th before 8 AM

Harvey S. Mozolak

there maple’s crimson
had congealed to brown
taking the small senseless flight
death’s drip
to mound the ground
as the fall storm stirred

at about the same place
and perhaps exactly
on a winter-bare branch
was a bright bird
two days in a row
red as a drop of life
today the third
still February freezing
the air empty
where the twigs like feathers
await returning warmth
and the leaves of light

beneath
in the thawing earth
the cardinal’s claws clasp
beak and break the worm