POETRY
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ST.
FRANCIS OF SAN FRANCISCO
POETRY LIKE BREAD
THE HISTORY OF MY HEART
OH
JENNIFER
WE
MUST NEVER HAVE A FIGHT
St.
Francis of San Francisco
san francisco
—named after my favorite saint—
cast the demons from assisi
with a sharp flick of his short arm
hanging out of tattered burlap robe
san francis cast himself
from the church
to climb hills
then mountains
free from architecture
lost in a deep, lush landscape
caught a few tears in his robe
of weathered brown
sewed patches over holes
with dried blades of grass
—i’ve seen it myself—
san francisco
i wander your hills
a little lost and enamored
but open to chance
saint francis wouldn’t
have it any other way
down he went gallivanting
meditating in bushes
until enlightenment
—which nature will do—
he staggered down hills
arms spread wide
preaching to birds
that gathered at his feet
listening to his poetry
in their own secret language
they whistled back to him
a sweet birdsong
san francisco
i go searching
under an expanse of sky
held by the wild arms of trees
shooting up from the earth
like red monsters
cranes walk deliberately across my path
turtles stack on top of each other
like a green condominium
life calls from the ocean
saint francis fancied trees to people
in the unmanicured grottoes
of the umbrian hills
as i wander the ups and downs
of the city alone
i pray you will guide me
just as fiercely
to be an instrument
of your peace and eternal light
cutting through fog
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