As though to prove
the gates are never quite completely sealed,
the names never fully disclosed,
I’m awakened at dawn
and led to the cloistered courtyard.
My eyes,
still carrying the scent of night,
are asked a question —
What exactly is a child doing
near the turquoise fountain of Christ?
The fountain denied to millions,
the fountain you once believed
was reserved for twelve.
My eyes,
kissed by early rays of light,
are asked a question —
What exactly are you supposed to do now?