The streets of Paris were crowded last night.
Woken from the sleep of death and life in the heat of the moment,
everyone spilled out into the night, watching.
Moving through the crowds searching for a face who would know them
Finding some comfort perhaps nestling next to a beating heart
the ghosts of Our Lady — homeless in Paris.
No longer huddled in the shadows where for centuries they have slept quietly in the bosom of blue scented solitude.
No longer laid solemnly at the foot of the altar, hands in prayer on chests wearing the ancient silver armor of our Lord’s armies, pray for us.
No longer floating high above wearing rose colored robes helping the living to believe that all things are of God’s hand.
