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[60] T H E C H A P E L T H AT T E M P T E D O ’ K E E F F E TO B E C O M E A C AT H O L I C A white linen throw, homely as a blank canvas, tops the square altar stone large enough to pin down Isaac. Did the artist rejoice in the weave? Did the woman recall the child she lived without? Two wrought iron candle-holders curve like horns of doubt on the lectern made of driftwood. Raindrops like fingertips tap in code. No hiding here from the wilderness. Christ dies again in a sky-blue loin cloth. Unstained, the windows weep and blur the red hills. ...

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