On Borgoglio’s Choosing
– 3/13/13 –
O seagulls, standing on this windy strand
of land, do you know him who fed you by hand,
or care, you modern birds, for this augered act
of election? Let us hope for no more pacts
with the world. Rise—you squadrons, wheeling fast,
so jesuitical in your squealing—past
your driftwood perches, and weave Francis’ romance
in your formations as you fight towards home.
Make nature militant again, and scream
the bellicose beauty of Homer’s dream.