And Saint Bonaventure replied very earnestly
with his usual authority:
“Yes, the foolish old woman
is able to love God more dearly
than the doctor, and is indeed in some sense
the very heart of our theology.”
Then Brother Giles ran into the garden
and then to the gate, past three
holy admirable birds and the blessed grass,
shouting and laughing many times between,
“Dumb silly peasant fool ho hey come here,
she loves God better than our Bonaventure!”
And immediately fell into an ecstasy
which lasted hours on the petunias
in front of the sky while I sat up
in my beachchair amazed
“He feels no inhibition before strangers,
But tears his breast open like a window
And sticks his heart out to the sun
And cries and cries and is so happy!”
Who bitter who invented facts?
Nothing since has made me even sad.