Miracles

Bread multiplying inside a locked 
        ciborium, a tree bearing a scar 
in the shape of the Virgin— 

        We want  so badly to witness 
miracles amid  the distress of daily life.
       More than these, for rooms to rise

from the rubble, and shelves of beautiful
       books to reassemble from out of 
libraries condemned to ash. If only 

       children could wake again in their beds 
with no gash flowering down their sides;  
       if only lovers could lean over a bridge 

to watch water softly stipple with fish, 
      the moon a lantern and not a warning flare.