An image of my lady lives inside
The church of San Michele, where her face,
Her kindness and her honesty provide
Asylum seekers with a moment’s grace.
Thus she, when people kneedrop and draw near,
Prioritises those who need her most:
A milky retina turns crystal clear,
A demon is evicted from its host.
Her features clarified by candlelight,
Her name is on the lips of everyone
Aware of just how many she makes right
And leaves how many gobsmacked lookers-on
Whom the Franciscans call idolaters
While only dreaming of a crowd like hers.
