If the heart is game
Christ is its hunter.
In your name, Francis,
the wolf is my brother.
In the name of the wolf,
the dogs and the birds
named in your prayers,
all living things
we place in your care;
except the wolf
I can endure,
but your perfection
is too much to bear.
It is Christ the hunter,
gentle Francis,
who bites and who tears.
At the close of your life
your near-blind eyes
were found to be sealed
by a lifetime of tears.
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