Integrite Spring 2013

68 IntĂŠgritĂŠ: A Faith and Learning Journal They cover it with a grey cloth, and the afternoon sun shines on it through cracks in the roof sometimes, but not even the old ox or the crippled donkeys can hear it singing: Transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

I grow old remembering it, hidden there behind a manger.

My hair turns gray, my skin around my eyes and mouth wrinkles like a dried-out sunflower pulled up from the ground.

But then a man like one of the lost magi stumbles on the monastery in the desert. He even finds the barn, where he trips, slips the gray shroud aside, and hears!

Transfigure me like a melody set in stone!

My Transfiguration! He says he must buy it, as if he were the merchant who found a treasure, yes, he says he must redeem this lost work of art for a new sanctuary.

Transfigure, yes, transfigure me like a melody, a melody set in the white sandstone of Santa Fe!