Sparrows

The Venerable Bede spoke of the human
soul as a sparrow flying in from
encompassing darkness to pass
through the bright hallowedness
of a sanctuary, then out again …
How often I have seen them — hopping,
somehow never out of place — in the neon smog
of the Underground, or usefully pecking
spilt grain in the temple-ceilinged
supermarket, its blaze shrinking
daylight to a shadow. It seems, in any kind
of shelter they will try to find
a home, however makeshift, or unhallowed.
If one could send the Venerable Bede
a letter, one might offer the information
that here, now, darkness is often disguised
as light; and that, grounded from free flight,
many have learnt to survive in the bounty
of simplest things, planting a creaturely
presence in bare, unfavoured nests;
small candles open to every wind of night.