+For Saint Maximillian Kolbe, Priest and Martyr of Auschwitz+

As I watched the tattoo ink needled into each left wrist,
I saw you brand each father in line ahead of me,
each brother, each son, marked in line ahead of me.

the sequence succeeded
from one to the next.

I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 0.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 1.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 2.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 3.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 4.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 5.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 6.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 7.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 8.
I saw you brand this son 1 – – – 9.

A census was taken.
Ten sons of a man–
ten sons of a father–
were counted, marked–
a son was secreted away,
escaping through the currents
of Egypt in darkness.

You mocked and scoffed
doubt upon them
in this taunting shadow
of the true reckoning.
But this was not
the Judgement of Doom
which awaited you.

The enemy that you are
resides bound in hellfire’s shadows,
the continuation of your existence
bearing witness
against your failure of your rebellion
against God’s Throne that IS
His existence.

Finally, I saw you brand
this son, also,
of a mother:
Prisoner 1 6 6 7 0.


When I saw you line us up,
I saw you choose with them
a father to be among those of us
who would be punished

for escape attempts that were not
theirs or ours. I saw this father
break into tears–weeping
and begging for his life

for the sake of his ten children.


I, too, am a beggar.
I am loosed from all bonds to beg.
I stepped forward and begged
to take this father’s place.

When they asked for my name,
I read your tattoo to them,
stitched also upon the uniform,
so they might reckon its meaning.

At peace, I read it to them,
looking upon them with love:
that of giving myself into their hands
for a father’s will,
for our will,
my last will.

I read it aloud so they might understand
the meaning of the numbers
with which they had branded us.

I read them our will,
my last testament:
“I am a Catholic priest.”


Father, forgive them
for they know not
what they are doing.

Against Narcissus

Against Narcissus

Jesus is not you until you are Jesus.
You could not make Him who makes you.

You do not make your own name,
but receive it from those He made.

He calls you by the name you are given.
He calls you by name for He knows you.

Do you write to make Him like you
or do you write to be written by Him?

Do you long to see your own face
when you look upon the waters

of Baptism, or, in His Name,

are you searching to discover
how too see all of His Face?

The waters of the bridal veil fall
opening the way of the cross to the tomb.

In three measures of the Name
your veil of Christ’s face rises


as He reveals His face with theirs.