Summer 1986 • Vol. VIII No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1986 |

Catechism

We recite our way to heaven,obedience, faith, grace, the wordsfrom the blue book in the priest's hands,our heads turning in the spring lightfrom his grave eyes to the windows whereyellow birds rise and the lilacscome swelling up from dark wood.All things are raised upin His light, the priest says,and we, after him, All thingsare raised up in His light. Down the long hill after,we cut through Baumgartner's woodswhere green already hangslike satin in the wet air.We are told a soul livesin each of us—in me,in Jaime Duarte, Correro, Santos:something luminous, yet you cannotsee it, as you cannot see Godthe Father but only His works:ourselves, the earth, the sky. Santos breaks off, runsbehind a tree, begins a hailof torn moss. Our school clothesblossom with smudges. We fireclods back at him, fan outalong the bog where we comewith strainers in early summerto scoop black tadpoles from the water.When we surround the treehe comes running, trips on a root.His knees furrow the soft grou

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Frank X. Gaspar is an American poet, novelist, and professor of Portuguese descent. His most recent novel is Stealing Fatima (Counterpoint press, December, 2009). His collection of poetry, Night of a Thousand Blossoms (Alice James Books, 2004) was one of twelve books honored as the "Best Poetry of 2004" by Library Journal. His most recent collection of poems is Late Rapturous, from Autumn House Press.

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We recite our way to heaven,obedience, faith, grace, the wordsfrom the blue book in the priest's hands,our heads turning in the spring lightfrom his grave eyes to the windows whereyellow […]

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