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St. Ignatius the Pilgrim: a sonnet to a statue

Many have leaned on your inclination,

have been caught by your firm, forward falling

into a sure, shifting destination:

Jerusalem forever withdrawing.


Many anchor their calm on your movement,

many still sail on the wind you resist,

and your cape, which billows with fast intent,

has been ballast for those who wildly list.


More than art and less than idol, you thrust

between sunsets that magnify your steps

the long, unwavering, bronze wedge of trust

that is your body, spirit cast and blessed

with a metallic, limping fortitude

founded by an equally pilgrim God.