in the lives of their followers.
Saints were conduits,
their untidy lives birthed miracles.
Their imperfection was what allowed
the hoped for, but unexpected, to happen.
As the saints' lives were falsified through hindsight,
so the miracles attributed to them were glossed into hagiography.
Not everyone with a soft heart, a sharp tongue
and a talent for untidiness will become a saint.
Very little of what we do today will become the means
for hoped for but unpredicted, which miracles appear to be.
But from here, and for now, I will practice my imperfections.
If I am patient for the fruit they bear,
then without any over-neat account of my life
I too will find a yield of my disorder-
my private communion with the saints.
Their imperfection was what allowed
the hoped for, but unexpected, to happen.
As the saints' lives were falsified through hindsight,
so the miracles attributed to them were glossed into hagiography.
Not everyone with a soft heart, a sharp tongue
and a talent for untidiness will become a saint.
Very little of what we do today will become the means
for hoped for but unpredicted, which miracles appear to be.
But from here, and for now, I will practice my imperfections.
If I am patient for the fruit they bear,
then without any over-neat account of my life
I too will find a yield of my disorder-
my private communion with the saints.
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