10/19/13 page of the day: Portrait of St. John, folio 291v and 292r

In a dim room, the Gospel of John rises, pure gold

in the gloom: In the beginning was the word,

and the word was made flesh. John’s seated

on a throne of ultramarine, haloed

in plaits of light. He’s my tribe, a scribe,

notebook in one hand, pen in the other. Around him,

tattooed in vellum, interlace knots, no beginning

or end. The more I stare in this darkness,

the less I see, patterns too small for my retinae,

these aging eyes. Made from pigments of verdigris,

orpiment, lampblack and woad, is it a vision,

or merely a dream? Metalwork or woven ribbons,

this is the universe recast as pattern, and I draw in

a breath, Word of God on my tongue.

~Barbara Crooker