The Vilnius Christ

The cathedral square is treeless. 
The blanched cement baking in appalling August weather.

More pleasant in a nearby shady park with benches 
on which to pause and rest, 

a Via Dolorosa lined with alpine trees. 
A weary half-pious tourist, 

yielding to the wretched heat, 
I almost turned away. Though once inside 

the white cathedral, I was met 
with gusts of air-conditioned air. 

And there above, spiked 
to palms and shins, his kindled wings afire.  

Peter Marcus | Oolong
Contents | Mudlark No. 55 (2014)