i can casually steal an apricot from a bowl
as i pass, knowing that it is not theft.
i can look out the windows to see that
the seasons are co-operative and
the animals are free and discreet.
i can write a haiku on the frosty windowpane.
in your house
i am in a sanctuary that compels my labour
to productive ends (laborare est orare).
i can stand in front of the bookshelves
to make an afternoon a holiday.
i can read poems by their own light.
in your house
sanctity has no smell
save the fragrance of the breath of God.
– Ross Clark
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