(to R.S. Thomas, Welsh poet)

You looked for a presence
In the absence,
Something in the mirror
Before you looked
And stopped looking.

 
Synagogue, mosque, church
Wait for a coming,
The breath’s expectation
Of the unexpected:

 
A unicorn standing
On an evening street,
Snow in the sky
Suspended, not falling.

Is it in the gaps
Of the toiling crowds,
Or the warmth of the wall
Where office folk sit?

 
Poems and prayers
Do their searching,
Are forever searching.
Whatever made tiger and lamb
Has time on its side.

Peter Thabit Jones  © 2016