Nov/Dec 2017 • Vol. XXXIX No. 6 PoetryNovember 1, 2017 |

I Call It Joy

this being unnoticed. Sitting like this    next to the stone lamb outside the Cathedral. My lost soul, which prefers the stone lamb    to the living God. Prefers these deep shadowsto the summer day. The way he took me     all those years ago, shattered me so that fifty-seven years later, I might sit     next to the smoothness of this stone lamb, know the stone joy of being unnoticed.     People go in the Cathedral all day long, visiting their God on their knees. That man     who betrayed me when I was a boy, first held me up to a tree so I would know     what smell lemon blossoms have.

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