CHARLES PEGUY'S CROSSROAD
(1873-1914)

In the shame of a belly
crying out for life on earth
in the stranger's messiah
of a cradled rest
on childhood's seven stories
from Brazil's favelas
last standing building
covering the highest angels sent
over words made flesh
in Joseph's torn fringes coat
near a wellspring
on the cave's creche
in a distant village
from a hand-out of bread
and wine
left on the wooden spoon
from a soup kitchen
in the open space
of lemon wedges and stars
needing a heaven
of comfort
in the days of awe
where fair Archangels
move slowly in Siberian snows
and exiles dive for escape
in caverns for freedom
from eagles wings
where a visionary glory
rests on black shoulders
of Soweto's songbirds
in the meadow morning
and tendrils arise
on parched fields
of green, purple and pink
you are with your blotter
dodging ammunition
loving enemies
in the roll calls of madness
with your memories
scrolled in the heart
from a child's hand
of holding up the Torah.