Return from Assisi

A mutilated Giotto. A loud: Silenzio!
From a car transporting animals
we passed on the way
the helpless look of a calf
being taken off to slaughter
follows me.


Help, Saint Francis.
Appear before the slaughterhouse gate.
And if you are busy at the moment,
please send
your brother Sylvester


or a wolf from Gubbio.


For the next poem in this sequence, click here.