Sometimes I wake at night to listen

To Father Walter's coughing in the

Next room; tomorrow he will complain

All day his feet and toes are cold. Sister

Gloria offers him warm tea, honey.

Together they talk about some monstrous

Polish poverty or the Capuchine

Shrine at Poznan where the Little Sisters

Of the Poor wear white cotton armlets, weave

Vestments, the God of our Fathers having

Endowed them with skill in gold, violet,

Purple, green and scarlet yarn, fine linen.

Last night I lightly slept and dreamt again

The final words of Moses. I saw a twirl

Of smoke, Zelophedad's daughters bringing

Biscuits, kinsmen coming up the footpaths,

Walking unguarded, one child holding its

Mother's legs. With the Levitical priests,

Moses enjoins the statutes, offering

Holocausts on undressed stones, peace offerings,

Eating and making merry before God.

Then the Levites proclaim the twelve curses,

Indistinguishable from our own time,

After which the people answer amen.

With one hand he piles the undressed stones;

With the other he brings the ax stroke down.

The goat's legs collapse, a rainbow coils

Under the surface of a distant cloud;

The children twist to see the hands dip down

Washed in blood. Light snow has been falling

Off and on this afternoon; Father coughs.

Sister rubs his feet with intimacy.

Someone she loves walked on water, leaving

No prints, no wake. Snow piles the corners

Of the rectory. Days after nights I

Dream, I sleepwalk, breathing, answering amen.