A traveller, who looks permanently
the other way, cannot see the hanging
on a nearby hill and is about to step
on the first, cracked stone of a footbridge.
A journey is the oldest metaphor,
next to God. Christ, enthroned, transforms the lucent
angels, falling, into winged plagues.
And the next metaphor. Hell’s ceaseless,
all accommodating horrors are almost
more than image. Before God, the sculpting
of fear in black angles of forest, fear’s
picture in another’s eyes – before God,
a sensing of evil.