A sonnet for Cuthbert

For five days I’ve prayed by your buried bones
Seeking to see your shepherd-saint’s face.
Tell me, Saint: Is your prayer-saturated stone
Drenched in the Gospel but parched for grace?
Bless me as you did the eagle and otter!
Resigned, I sense my prayers don’t rise above
The ancient-arced ceiling. I ought to
Go and see if peace doves ate them. But Love
Beckons me to follow Cuthbert’s pilgrim path.
There I find a hidden stream that disinters
My broken heart’s resentments and wrath.
A fresh hope washes me in its living waters.
And so the shepherd of cathedral and of crook
Pulls me close to the God of nature and of Book.
-Allegra Jordan, 2024, Durham, UK