FRANCIS OF ASSISI

A man in dark sackcloth tied with a rope came across my vision in a haze. It was either Saint Francis or the homeless man. Drowning in the gold grass, he didn’t walk but rather glided across the earth on thorns and broken bottles, barely touching them with his bare feet, and the places where his blood spilled grew flowers.

 

© 2020. Petr Nemirovskiy. All rights reserved.

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