Francis Goes to Heaven

It seems,
Out of each heartbeat he was recreated,
And again,
As a dove in an eagle’s feathers.
An eagle
Flying high inside the dome of cage,
Blindfolded and confined.
It was always a matter of time.
For who could keep it thus forever
When it could set the whole forest on fire
With its songs?

Who would have known this?
It seemed like only yesterday!
A man carved out of the rocks of Assisi!
A man setting foot on the roads of Assisi!

With each exhaling and inhaling,
He shed his cloaks of fine linen,
One by one, breath by breath,
Till there was nothing left;
Nothing but the vast and naked
Snow-covered plains of Assisi.

Here is Francis of Porziuncola,
Made uncontainable.
Here is Francis of Assisi,
Set ablaze by love.
Here is Francis of the infinite elements,
Fire, water, everything else and love.
How can a flame be not flamboyant
With so much fire in its wings?

Francis,
Who sings with birds of the air and beasts of the forests,
In one voice which is equal to sum of all silence and
Sum of all creations,
Ignited by love,
Wounded by mercy,
Enriched by poverty,
Hand in hand with his lady love,
Ascends the stairway to heaven;
Barely touching the ground.