At the second telling, we woke up,
Perhaps the whiskey settled deeper into the
Dinner soup and, after the initial nausea passed,
We were taken in by his magic.

Later, others would speak about the wounds or the sad eyes,
I thought the whole display cheesy, in fact;
I´m not sure we were noticed, beyond the rant
About “sinners” and “saints” as being, somehow, the same.
I couldn´t buy it.

Still, I saw in his blaze, the whole history
Of our sad people, searing us
With good news and a feeling
That history would be made here.
After the hangover, my life was changed, though
I´d forgotten the words.


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