Hanque O . . . - Reliquary

In the hollow trunk
of a long-ago burnt oak
I place my folded offering

in hope of favor from a saint to be.
I walk away.
The votive candle has been lit.
There is nothing more I can do.

Proof of saintliness will be revealed
when spring's rain
and summer's drought and winter's snow

fail
eternally
to erase the words
and the oak will be a reliquary.

Hanque O . . .

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reliquary-3/