Dear Ste. Odile,
Do you not see the point?
I chose you quite by chance
My sheer sister
From among all the others
To be the gnomon
Whose measured shadow falls
On all my delicate sorrows
I was thinking only
Of the sharp beauty
That you sew into the sky
Why did you draw me
An arbitrary pilgrim?
For I lost myself
In the high dwindling
Of your Gothic schemes
As you raised
Your long, ascetic finger
Warning the insouciant
streets
To behave and pay attention
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…
