heart shaped key

a cross full of milagros , tiny weapons
nailed like christ to its silver.

all these symbols
look dangerous,
weapons used on saints
in the old days.

what would  an electric chair, a needle
 and a taser do for  a catechism?

three crimson dots
wander the  concrete looking
for the girl in red hair,
 under the silverado.

she's past time for confessions
and no patience for respect
but under the circumstances,
she emgerges, limping , uncowed
by the laser tags lining her breast
gleaming on the cross.

 the lunge and the blossoming
dark arise simultaneously
filling her first
 with wonder, then answers
only saints can understand.