The Catholic Laureate - by Fr. Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
Fr. Pier Giorgio DiCicco, a priest of the Archdiocese of Toronto, has
authored 17 books of poetry. He was born in Italy, raised in Montreal,
Boston and Toronto and has taught at the University of Toronto. He is
currently Poet Laureate of the City of Toronto. His poetry is published
by The Mansfield Press
When God speaks
it is like listening
to yourself
being deafened by your
wonder;
all at once
the sound that is no sound
fills your bones, makes stillness
of the world and gives you the only
focus you will ever have, your heart made
for adoration.
No wanting to escape,
no choice, no happy sadness or sad
heavens, just the moment you were born
minus the shriek, just the window of your
death without your fear; just His being there,
and you in the crux of His hand, your senses
like sparrows for the world, visiting, and just as happy
to come home to branches.
Suddenly, there is no wind, just
white spirit, that might as well be wings,
as if you need them for anything but play,
like a consecration that life is.
And you are made of the same stuff that love is,
for that moment, when he calls Himself to you.
My heart is a fearful attic.
The sun has set; let me feel your kiss
between heartbeats,
in that engine I have so poorly treated
with stupid scares
and frights.
Manage me like you do sunset and those
I have strengthened; without me,
let them find sunrise,
but for now, scatter the pigeons, tear the old curtains
down, scatter the dust in me;
whiten in the black light of
my faith as pathetic a thing as loneliness.
Take the lump in my throat and
make it a fireball,
a meteor to run with train whistles
and the simple
breeze in willows.
Above all, love me,
the way I seek to be presented to you,
like a gem, your child.
When I am alone again
I am thrown
into the throws
of You, like wind wrangling through
trees and weather caught
in my throat,
like children
alone on a roof
in some place.
Beginnings chase each other
and laugh, dying.
Words commence themselves and
cringe
with nothing to do than to call my face
a lying thing.
Objects will not hold to my hands,
for they belong to you, my God,
a lyric with love.
I hope to move into light,
to become close to you,
to stake myself to the
earth in your name.
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Fr. Pier Giorgio DiCicco, a priest of the Archdiocese of Toronto, has
authored 17 books of poetry. He was born in Italy, raised in Montreal,
Boston and Toronto and has taught at the University of Toronto. He is
currently Poet Laureate of the City of Toronto. His poetry is published
by 
