The puffball heads from
leggy dandelions are being dispersed by
by a spring-freshened breeze.
The morning air is thick with birdsong.
Despite a waft of pear blossoms
drifting through an open chapel window,
today’s sermon will not be
shortened nor communion service hurried.
This sepulchral hour of
pious devotion must be observed in full.
But outside – animate, rioting
in full color – a host of flowers, absolved
from such somber obligations,
enshrines the path leading to a courtyard.
There, a wooden replica of
Francis of Assisi has never knelt in prayer.
Enraptured by the secular,
this saint does not look heavenward as
he communes with God.
Rather, he pays homage to the pigeons
now gathering at his feet.

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