The Treasures of Candace (Fifth Sunday of Easter)
Go to the south of the road where
In the wilderness sits one who
Has seen his nation’s full wealth,
Held in his hands the treasury key,
Has borne the trust, the security
Of Candace, his queen.
Go to where he sits, treasure locked
In between his hands. Hear him
Ask, beg, plead to have the treasure
Chest opened up for him. Show him
What he cannot see for himself.
You have the key: turn it.
Sit beside him; let the excluded
One see the beauty of words like
Amethyst and chrysolite fall
From my mouth. Show him the emeralds
That emblazon your sword; wield it.
It will surely cut his heart.
Go down to the water where the
Crystal streams shall open up to
Take him in, its child, made new,
A new explorer in a land of jewels.
Most of all, let him see the
Ruby red that flows from me.
And let the Humble One then humble
Him who has known treasures vast
Yet none like these, the treasures born
Of death and silent sacrifice.
Let him kneel, then, and throw
His treasury key into the sea.
The Consolations of Writing 