In two years She dropped the church. New friends made in the school, New interests, work that took her energies And this religious flare had cured her up Of what was killing her when first I knew her. There was another thing that drew her back To flesh, away from spirit: She saw bodies, And handled bodies as a nurse, forgot The body is the spirit's temple, fell To some materialism of thought. And now Avoided me, was much away, of course, On duty here and there. I tried to hold her, Protect and guide her, wrote to her at times To make confession, take communion. She Ignored these letters. But I heard her say The body was as natural as the soul, And just as natural its desires. She kept Out of the wreck of faith one thing alone, If she kept that: She could endure to hear God's name profaned, but would not stand to hear The Savior's spoken in irreverence. She was afraid, no doubt. Or to be just, The tender love of Christ, his sacrifice, Perhaps had won her wholly--let it go, I'll say that much for her. Why am I harsh? Because I saw the good in her all streaked With so much evil, evil known and lived In knowledge of it, clung to none the less, Unstable as water, how could she succeed? Untruthful, how could confidence be hers? I sometimes think she joined the church to mask A secret life, renewed forgiven sins. After she cloaked herself with piety. Perhaps, at least, when she saw what to do, And how to do it, using these detours Of piety to throw us off, who else Had seen what doors she entered, whence she came. She wronged the church, I think, made it a screen To stand behind for kisses, to look from Inviting kisses. Then, as I have said, She took materialism from her work, And so renewed her sins. She drank, I think, And smoked and feasted; but as for the rest, The smoke obscured the flame, but there is flame Or fire at least where there is smoke.