Lance Le Grys
now in a vision once I found myself inspired
to visit Francis and contemplate his famous wounds
when questioned I explained myself with the image of the sun
which of course cannot be viewed directly but only by
an imperfect reflection from which we may derive all knowledge
of the source of light itself
this appeared insightful
when I came to his hut I found all as I had heard
dirty cold and perfectly uncomfortable
I went inside and found the saint lying on a pallet
his arms outstretched on the dirt floor singing a hymn
in a hoarse untuneful voice
here is very joy
I commented peering closely at the forms of the nails
which I wiggled back and forth it seems it all is true
Francis stopped his singing and looked up to me grinning
the dirt from the floor had caused infection in his wounds
and his whole front was sopping with warm blood from his side
he was perfectly filthy and stank to heaven
you’re certainly
all that they have told me I said but after all
can even that save me
at this he merely winked and said
give us a kiss
at the word I started back seized
by a sudden paroxysm of terror and with a yell fled out of the hut
and down the road past the astonished lookers-on
and not once dared I glance behind me sure the saint
pursued me on his toes careful lest his exertion
dislodge the precious nails from his gangrenous reeking feet
Leave a Reply