Not every wino is a Holy Man. 
Oh, but some of them are. 
I love those who've learned
to sit comfortably 
for long periods with their hams
pressed against their calves, 
outdoors, 
with a wall for a back-rest, 
contentedly saying nothing.
These move about only when
necessary, 
on foot, and almost always
in pairs.
I think of them as oblates. 
Christ's blood is in their veins 
or they thirst for it. 
They have looked into the eyes
of God, 
unprotected by smoked glass.