May I

  pilgrimage   …those whom life had scathed to faith                                     Christian Wiman   there are bells I want to feel ring into me   I want to be their very own campanile   their paving stone be bare soled in all   the weathers of the town  her  sounds  my struck   metal of bells holystoned    making smooth the flakes the metal confetti now leaves    at my feet and all bones reverberant   resounding

  moonrise west quoddy head lubec, maine Lucia—Lux—Light   For St. Lucy, Patron Saint of Eyesight   How sight is so simply sundered. True the variegated blue cleave Miles received deep beneath The placid seeming black seeming   Sea.   Pods of predators clouds Jaws all gawp and saw.   Halfway Through the host is hoisted To her own behold and who:   The bread itself spying the eye Of the righteous, eye of blight, a kind of Conjunctivitis creeping the white Up the spires only to spike the sunlight.