SARGASSO


 PENTECOST SUNDAY IN LA HINCH



Has it after all come to this
A squalid hall on some forsaken cliff
The small birds songless, huddling against the wind
In the doorways of rocks, and the morning papers
Sweeping the mean streets like stricken gulls
And everywhere the traffic stalled and cursing.
Inside, the wit of miracle unfolds
Homely as the notices of death
And marriage bans and prayers for peace.
Inside, word becomes flesh
Easily as the glove slips on the hand,
And nobody notices the blood
Nor wonders at the tongues caught fire.



 James Collins
 University of Puerto Rico
 Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico