In the last season, she changed her ways.
The pilgrim would find only
The mossgrown window beside the church porch
And through it at times a loaf and water were passed.
A few words, a command. Yes she knew who was there,
She still prayed for them all by name. I remember
When she would give me an hour of her visions,
When she would levitate –– she was always deaf ––
When thin pipe music resounded beyond the grilles.