by Joe Bisicchia
Amidst the fallen space junk a bronze serpent maybe,
or not,
exaltation of the Holy Cross, with God something to grasp
or not,
maybe more so God among us, as we knot,
they baptize a baby at mass.
A wet headed little crying Joe is lifted to claps.
And it’s then I realize,
Heart of Love is so extraordinary and
we’re all together individually blessed by such a sacrament,
unless some of us lose ourselves not.
I wipe a tear.
Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in numerous publications. His website is www.JoeBisicchia.com.