Friday, November 21, 2014

What Is Sacred

I have no idea what priests

dream of on Christmas Eve, what prayer


a crippled dog might whine before the shotgun.
I have no more sense of what is sacred


than a monk might have, sweeping the temple 
floor, slow gestures of honor to the left,


the right. Maybe the leaf of grass tells us
what is worthwhile. Maybe it tells us nothing.


Perhaps a sacred moment is a photograph
you look at over and over again, the one


of you and her, hands lightly clasped like you
did before prayer became necessary, the one


with the sinking cathedral in Mexico City rising up
behind you and a limping man frozen in time


to the right of you, the moment when she touched
your bare arm for the first time, her fingers


like cool flashes of heaven.
Lee Herrick, "What is Sacred" from The Many Miles from Desire. Copyright © 2007 by Lee Herrick, published by WordTech Communications LLC.

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