* A beat-up photograph of an assembly in 1955 in St. Mary's auditorium.
It was on the top level, which – not then – but now overlooks a freeway.
I am there on the edge of a row.
Pretty maids row in a light cockleboat
Torn and battered as an old photograph
Tossed by a fury in up-and-downdraft,
Split by cockle shells, as silver bells gloat.
Hailstones pommel with layers we wrote.
Ice crystals, water drops dance then accrete.
Pine seed and savage in orchards who meet
Build walls of words meaning what to connote?
Mysteries we know we cannot deny.
To mirror we’re laced up in our tower
In hollow too hidden to tell a lie
Truth is an arrow piercing our bower
A danger to faith and to love’s long tie;
Contrary to love, emptiness, power.