A Certain Kind of Holy Men

 Not every wino is a Holy Man.

Oh, but some of them are.

I love those who've learned
to sit comfortably
for long periods with their hams
pressed against their calves,
outdoors,
with a wall for a back-rest,
contentedly saying nothing.

These move about only when
necessary,
on foot, and almost always
in pairs.

I think of them as oblates.

Christ's blood is in their veins
or they thirst for it.

They have looked into the eyes
of God,
unprotected by smoked glass.

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