st. frances cabrini

in the 10th street catholic church

with prayer tinged crumbling walls

poised, stoned, unsmiling statues

chaperoned from conception to death

the stained glassed windows keep

centuries of bread and wine

the quietness echoes the passion

from the sun’s last transient smile

god looks from dust covered rafters

as if asking, “who is following me?”

the black snake’s venom is drained

by the queen for all years

my fifty cent candles glow

like god, in each other we trust

bound in a mystery of piety

yet there are seasons yet to pass

the sign of peace is extended

along with love

from the beginning god spoke

to me, and probably always will

 

 

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