Thy breath is beautiful upon the hills.
In Thine eyes is strength.
I reach out my hand to touch the bright
razor wire around the fire tower.
It flashes like your teeth,
plucked & settled in their monstrance.
That is what faith is like,
one’s own tongue
against someone else’s teeth.
Uncountable, each perfectly molded.
The drug deal I’ve been observing
is concluded.
The young men have driven away.
What I thought was a black dog
curled at one’s feet
was a backpack with a gun in it.
Sing, razor wire in the cross-thermal.
Sing, illusion of a private faith.
You can see the world from here.
It is perfect in every respect.
Now, climb down. I am watching.
On the Recently Re-Instituted Memorial of Our Lady of Walsingham
More: Poetry
Show Comments (
)
Comments are automatically closed two weeks after an article's initial publication. See our comments policy for more.
The latest from america
The conclave that begins next Wednesday to elect a successor for Pope Francis is the first in 46 ½ years for which the Vatican hasn’t ordered a set of cassocks from the two best-known papal tailors.
Papabile: How do conclave watchers come up with their lists of the next pope—and should we trust them?
The people of God see the bishop of Rome as a teacher, but they also unquestionably see him as a father.
Since the death of Pope Francis, lists of his possible successors have proliferated on social media and in newspapers. Should you trust them?