Rise up in splendor, Chicago!

Rise up in splendor, Chicago! Your light has come,

the glory of the Lord. See, darkness in the alleys,

under viaducts, along the broken sidewalk concrete.

See, thick clouds. The sun of morning shines on you

and each wrinkle of the flat land, city of the middle,

link between high and low, West and East, earth and

heaven. Holy Covenant, Holy Plan.

Chicago the Hazelnut, Mustard Seed, Samaritan Heart.

Your light is every language, each person, the document

of breathing. Your light flows the continent, all the seas,

each land and every, the fiery molten core, the thin wisp

of space edge. Rebuilt in three days.

The wise and the weak turn to you, the somber and the

lightheaded, every tainted one, every dappled one, every

one crawling and flying and walking, each yearning one,

confused one, muddied one. Raise your eyes and look

about. He, in the arms of his nurse. They, in the father’s

embrace. She, standing tall. Holy Tabernacle, Holy

Incense.

Your rusty heart, Chicago, throbs, overflows, a treasure

handed out like pastries sent home, like bright colored

flowers on a balcony, like wish-you-were-here postcards

to isolate flats. You, Chicago, send forth your trucks to

San Jose and Baton Rouge, to Queen Wisdom in the far

land, with words, cantatas and portraits, proclaiming the

praises of the Lord.

You steward grace and mystery, Chicago, revelation to

the generations. You spirit every voice, every breath — all

one body in you. Holy Promise, Holy Plain. The Lord honors

you as bride, as a roe jaunting the hill meadow, as the

humble sparrow in all its plain glory. Queen Hen gathers

your children under her wings, and you are willing.