After Robert Lowell, Catholic Camp (circa 1978)

[from early poems,1970's, youthful attempts at voice]

An island of pines mock
Our Lady's open gesture.
A rain of sticks beats
upon tents of the austere.
The priest lives here in the
Sanctuary where Mary, too,
Resides, and the Host,
And a maid's quarter in
the rear, her cleansing
Hands, and the Father's.

Will venial sins vere
These holy scansions
Over blood, over wine
Most sincerely draught,
A grace bought it seems
By our prostrations and
Murmurs and fears for
Heaven in uneven loaves?

Are these leavened,
And are we mortals
To sort our thanks
Each chew  a rosary
Sacrifice renewed
With each bite

Finalized anew with
Each swallow sending
Immanuel like Jonas
Down into the morning
Growling pit craving
The body but not the
Deity Of the Lord?