The Crab And The Crucifix
A Tale of St Francis Xavier

How deep does it fall? How deep? I can reach it.
Take my pincers in your prayers; they are sharp but humble.
The sea is a troubled storm itself – it has no mercy
For passing boats. Angry spirits inhabit the waves.
This is where I must find it.

There is the ripple – how it descends like other droplets,
Downwards. I sense a great presence, hallowing the water.
It has been done before, by different hands, but the same face.
A mystical blue surrounds it; a great rush, flooding the soul.
The sea is startled and drowned by such a holiness. Nothing stirs.

Its great shape resembles that on my back. I carry it,
Yet I feel unworthy to touch such a tenderness.
It is wooden and authentic – I would not want to hurt it
With my claws, sharp like iron nails.
They are known for terrible deeds.

I am to abase myself and carry such a fortune.
This is a benediction in its own right. How I will carry it
Like the altar server, clasping my claws in holiness and prayer.
A great sainthood awaits me, in the figure of Christ-likeness,
And this crucifix would be mine too, if I were a human.