by Pavel Chichikov
Not him but his pathetic robe
The true flag of Assisi
Laundered and preserved, but not filled up
Inside the empty socket of Subasio
The pines, the wrens, the sliding sun
The yellow curving wall of Francis’ cell
But not the fragile bones and skull
The melting muscle and the insubstantial blood –
The imitative whistle lives
Or did you know he whistled with the birds?
He sang with them, and they with him
Some echoes now to last forever
In this dying world there is a wave
Attenuated yet alive
And his was strong and rises still
It was not sound, for that requires air
It was the wordless run and trill of prayer
Pavel's Websites are at Grey Owl Press and The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov
