with perfect creases
bend down behind the stone virgin
and throw dice.
The statue of Mary says:
I’m too old for this, having journeyed so far
with my heart this way and my poor legs
hardening with veins.
To hell with the soldiers and thugs
and cops standing guard,
with religion and capitalism
and shooting craps.
Up with the corn!
Viva la chocolate!
God save the black beans!
There’s wailing in the distance,
not insects rubbing their wings
but someone crying out,
oh no oh god hail Mary.
His wife is shaking him:
Get up. It’s raining.
The virgin is weeping
out in the field behind the stone fence.
She’s weeping out there
behind wet stones and soldiers.
The rain is working away at human labors.
The wall is crumbling.
The soldiers have lost their creases
Rain is taking apart the world,
even our homes, our faces, our backs
with their tight muscles.
No more Great Wall of China.
No more Pietà.
Even Mary is being freed.
Get up. Get up.
There’s a red lizard on Mary’s shoulder.
Along the top of the hill
trees are growing out of stone,
trees that live with small nourishment,
and soldiers are singing
and the virgin is laughing.
Get up!