St. John of the Cross wore dark glasses
As he passed me on the street.
St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful and grave,
Turned her back on me.
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I like this simile of yours: There was the East River; there was the Hudson. Their waters shone like oil in sanctuary lamps.
Good one, not bad, though, or maybe eaxtly because, you'd expect something different of a poem titled The Initiate
'In that whole city you could hear a pin drop. Believe me. I thought I heard a pin drop and I went looking for it.' I don't exactly know why this especially moves me, but it feels like the story of my life.