Thursday, February 28, 2008

st. somebody of everywhere

there is a flame
that bears my name
flickers by a

in the window
there is stain
that shows a man
healing the lame

he’s looking down
and looking sad
as if the lame
who reach
are bad

perhaps they do not
have a flame
or anyone
to pray their name

frozen in an almost
above the rigid
empty rows

and all the little
flames that dance
cannot melt
the icy glance

cast from saints
upon the lost -
to die
is gain
to live
the cost.

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