Sunday, September 03, 2006


by Gerald Leighton

The floor creaks.
He wasn't expecting this reception
But wasn't expecting anything at all
Since none was known expect for the knowing
Smiles from men he had know long
And Some not at all.

The floor creaks.
In this place with the senses retrained
And the words strange to the untuned ear
With the feet laid soft upon the floor
While being led with assurance and knowing
to a place, but where?

The floor creaks.
Is the building that old?
or does the rite need
This sound that assures that all is quite sane
To the new of the Craft in this first sense of old
and oneness with all who assemble this nite
For this purpose that's his.

The floor creaks.
It's a sound not regarded till this time and this hour
by any who tead on the board of the floor
Till the hush of the moment and the serious approach
of the labor and time and the new world retreats
To give way to the once-was.

The floor creaks.
Will be forgotten, this sound, with the lesson ahead.
And none note the loss 'cept the foot or the slipper
As words now replace the moan and the history
Steeped deep in the heart of this place
That delivers once more.

The floor creaks.
The history is clear of the sound and the entry
That this house now upheaves from the beams
Of support and the Craft takes the load and the burden
As the floor and the board and the carpet this evening
To test the heft of him.



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