The saint’s hands, rugged as they be

scars upon scars, bruised and callous

broken and torn, shattered by war

wounded and heavy, steel, dented and

unlusterous, ragged like faded cloth

stained and twisted, weary and labored

as yoked beasts, panting under the

cloudless sky, bearing the sun

between their shoulders, trembling

steady themselves now——

and fold into prayer