Ingathering my frail smocked son he says: don’t squeeze.
Absolution by poison has made him into papier maché;
They kill him then redress the balance,
Befuddle his blood to save the valved heart.
If the worst of life connives such weakness
How can I plot to sidestep
The slow grinding dust to dust
And graft my tissue to his
To make him new weighty again
Full of substance, begotten not made?
” Nicholas Wolf
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Fourth Watch
The following is an excerpt from the first edition of The Fourth Watch, a newsletter about Catholicism from First…
St. Cuthbert and the Cave That Couldn’t Be Filmed
August 2025 in northern England was chilly and windy. I had gone over to this land along…
Ukraine’s Religious Leaders and Munich 2.0
Prior to the “Revolution of Dignity” that began on the Maidan, Kyiv’s Independence Square, in late 2013…
