Page 13 - DAVID ROOMY MysteriuMBellE

No longer leaning by the door I took a seat,
then all were filled,
and the holy assembly’s procession began.
Was it Christ’s
or Saint Nicholas’s, rescuer from perils, joyful?
Beside him, flaming- haired woman or man or Archangel Michael, and
I woke on Christmas morn.
A deeper reality
dreams me.
I have seen his face—
face as of the living priest
of the living Dios, or All. Does that living reality
yet burn a miracle
for all who yet
stare into its incandescent glow— world waiting
in us
to heal itself?
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