She was stone and clear water flowed in shoots,
fountains
of joy came from beneath her hands:
her
figure, the sacred image of lands
where the
Catholic tree spread its deep roots.
A vision:
Fatima appeared in woods;
walkers
visited almond marble bands,
the gown
that was as mystical as sands
shifting
in the desert. The light that should
disperse
over her form and the ’spiring pines,
would
glimmer in her unseeing white eyes,
and her
earthly blindness unveiled the sight
of a
thousand angels, ready at signs
of her
distress. To her side and her sighs
of
pity—the revealing of the light.
—Emily Isaacson
Photo used by permission: Armstreet Clothing Company
