We are saving for a trip
to a small church in Santiago
to visit a sculpture
of the Virgin weeping blood.
We know she will stop
when she sees our lack
of faith—when we kneel
fading into her gaze.
I held an umbrella over your head
under peach- and mud-smeared cloud—
while we walked to dinner after therapy.
I flattered your blue iris—Pantheon
oculus, living building letting in sky,
seductive as Rome’s decay.
under peach- and mud-smeared cloud—
while we walked to dinner after therapy.
I flattered your blue iris—Pantheon
oculus, living building letting in sky,
seductive as Rome’s decay.
