i am zacchaeus
fumbling up the sycamore
to catch a glimpse

i am the leper
flinging my corruption
onto the mercy of jesus

i am the woman at the well
parched at high noon
as a dry and barren land
where no water is

i am the psalmist
grief dims my eyes
my beauty is gone
for very trouble

i am pope francis
kneeling to wash
the feet of inmates
on holy thursday

i am a prisoner of sin
a mendicant of mercy
begging for blessings
greedy for grace