The Wise Men

A pilgrim’s faith would have led you there:
The pinch­ing of beads, ceramic ver­sus bone,
The allot­ted prayers, the spent breath,
Tak­ing the cir­cuit as you find it,
And sleep­ing the night with an open eye,
Ready to scurry on before it’s too late:
“Not all at Fatima saw, not all!”
An old man’s com­fort­ing cry heard as he works alone,
Cov­er­ing miles to snatch the hem of the mist.
Let them appraise, applaud the tumult in the sky,
But who then shall know those washed white,
The tear of seals, the trum­pets’ might?

 

 

 





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Ste­fan Kamin­ski has pub­lished poems in the Sar­ma­t­ian Review and is work­ing on a novel.