Fish and Birds and Other Things

The black and white prince
behind the kitschy shrine,
incense and thurible in hand,
falls down the sanctuary steps
and slumps in the red confessional
to hear and absolve his hidden sins.
Lighting candles on the very top shelf,
the physician never seems to heal himself.

It is all well and good

if he's drunk as hell on altar wine,

for no one offends the universe.

Everyone has thrown the first stone.

Everyone has delivered the gut punch

and colored outside of the lines.

Everyone has picked up the serrated blade

and cut the here and now

far too close to the bone.

 

Let there be saints,

but not ones with robes

or halos or praying hands.

Let them be fish and birds

and other wondrous things

that pirouette like the sun and moon

and grace the air like insect wings.

 

Let the sacred and the profane

lie in the marriage bed.

Let them become great with child

who revels and dances and always sings

to the wizards and witches who live in the wild.

Let the world stumble its way into holiness

without canon law firing its rumble and roar.

Let there be fish and birds and other things.

~William Hammett

Copyright William Hammett 2026

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