by Nick Gisburne
A shivering. A frisson, more than fear,
The touch of what emotion must deny.
A curio, its nature cold and clear,
A piece of Heaven, fallen from the sky.
That this eternal shard should come to me
Is far beyond my wisdom to enjoy.
Impossible. Its meaning must not be.
I shake, with all the wonder of a boy.
What renders this discovery unique,
When thousands more are falling, day by day?
A prophecy, of which the scriptures speak,
A sign that God, defeated, flies away.
A final fragment seals our Father’s fate:
The broken lock, from Heaven’s broken gate.
