At the Chapel of the Tomb of St. Francis,
the altar sat flush against a wall of stones.
Behind the wall were the bones of the saint,
and in the front, a large bronze crucifix,
the body of the Lord hanging limp.
The priest and deacon face the people now,
standing behind the altar, but that day
we faced the cross. We all looked the same
direction. And I was up against
the stones. I was preparing the paten
and cup, and that altar was narrow.
I could touch the wall. I saw my breath
stirring the dust in the grooves.