Br. Augustine's hands looked
like they'd hung faithfully for years
next to a blacksmith's bellows
like two old asbestos mitts dark and
scorched with the stains of age.
While those fingers dipped daily
in the holy waters of remembrance.And the
moons of his years rising
in the rippled amber of his nails.
Bro. Didacus Wilsom, T.O.R. |
