"I do not know you people: soldiers come
to life from history books, I think, and yet
you found me, fed me. Kindness, or ... a threat
perhaps, for something doesn't fit. This slum
of a church -- I knew this place before it congealed.
These stones feel hard and real and safe inside:
ruins they were, their roofless pillars wide
to catch the sun and rain. What magic healed
its broken state -- does your belief in God
build miracles from mists? Oh no. No!
Some prayers to a wood statue glued to a cross
cannot explain this mess, it rides roughshod
through every thing I know. No crop can grow
so quick ... this is a lie, and I'm still lost!"