since
you
died the
same year as
i started college
stories about you still rippled
doubting your visions, chats with angels, and stigmata
birth in the sad soil of south italy in an age where hope for miracles blossomed
set your fate as saint in waiting—hospital funds you begged showered in a flock of qualms
since your exaltation two decades hence questioning
fades—your corpse chopped into relics
old bones create fresh
tourist traps—
hope gilds
this
dust