The Holy Mary’s Face seen
in cheese sandwiches in those trees
caged within concentric iron circles
in sidewalks in a metonymy of forests
on a dirty window in Hartford, thinking
of those consecrated dirty fingers
and was it mischief or desperation,
did they solve something
at the intersection of God
and loneliness. Is it this, the why
that calls crowds back each day
despite their own doubt praying
the next time they came back
they’d see it too in a Reformation
of eyes finally able to see God
without asking where to look?
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