The Saints Make Me Nervous

The saints make me nervous
those lovers of holy pain
who run to embrace the cross
welcoming the pitiless spike
in hand or heart or brow

You consorts of solitude
companions of the empty tomb
willing gardeners of Gethsemane
daily hiking the Via Dolorosa
- I wish I could travel with you

But I’m afraid that I’d falter
half way up Skull Hill
and turning back is even worse
than never starting to climb.