Some have in them the deluge
It is not the path which just happens,
A gently swaying, slightly unstable rhythm
To prepare the air to receive those
Safe for paradise. The rigid floor
A field of giving and a fewness of wishes.
Making a good friend of a climbed
Is the bed of a future street.
What shall my west hurt me?
The stream-enterer, reborn
And not re-passing that lowest
The title is from a Spanish word meaning the tiny patch on a wall behind an altar where the tabernacle is. Usually frescoed. I was reading about el Greco's paintings, how gravity is reversed and what looks like disaster as Elizabeth Bishop says could really be the best thing for the world despite the personal tragedies suffered. HOW HUMAN SACRIFICE can have a spiritual fallout. Look already at our decomissioning here, a direct result of the massacre. But that's not in the poem, just them and their salvation. As Wilfred Owen writes, "Some say God caught them before they fell."