Poem for an Unknown Saint
His robe ripples like
waves in water,
his arms tucked under
the flowing robes.
His crown is intricate,
rises into a peak,
positioned with care
under an arch of carved lace.
But his face is blank;
no heavenly halo,
no quizzical smile,
no brooding glance
no eyes of compassion.
His face is blank,
the blank of white stone
the blank of weathered rock
the blank of polished brick.
The Unknown Saint
looms over this world,
the world of money,
of glitter and credit cards.
The Unknown Saint
hangs, suspended, as if
his power emanates
from the beauty of the curve
of his cape
and the flutter of his hem.
Only his ears remain open,
detailed and intact,
as if he is still
listening for the Divine
His robe ripples like
waves in water,
his arms tucked under
the flowing robes.
His crown is intricate,
rises into a peak,
positioned with care
under an arch of carved lace.
But his face is blank;
no heavenly halo,
no quizzical smile,
no brooding glance
no eyes of compassion.
His face is blank,
the blank of white stone
the blank of weathered rock
the blank of polished brick.
The Unknown Saint
looms over this world,
the world of money,
of glitter and credit cards.
The Unknown Saint
hangs, suspended, as if
his power emanates
from the beauty of the curve
of his cape
and the flutter of his hem.
Only his ears remain open,
detailed and intact,
as if he is still
listening for the Divine
There are times when I think The Unknown Saint walks with me, a flash, a glint of light today, a shadow tomorrow. We never know if the trace of movement around the corner is the remembrance of a life we have known somewhere in our ancient past or the premonition of a future flight. There are always shadows that we must run from or face. Sometimes The Unknown Saint is our guide, the smile on the face of the "jersey cow" kitten; Sometimes merely a distraction in the glimmer of the olive green hummingbird's wings.