I have a photograph I cut from a magazine, of a teenage girl with a crown of daisies nestled atop her wispy blonde hair. She is staring into the heavens, enraptured. I show the photo to Father John and do not tell him that it unnerves me. He whispers that I remind him of this girl. The girl's eyes are wide and her smile resembles a grimace. She is in awe but she looks like she is in pain.

The Pope arrives in Washington D.C. on Tuesday. The town is alive in his presence, throbbing. He waves and greets the crowd before him and they cheer. They merge together, excitedly, their hearts singing, their bodies aquiver. A union of countless souls, undulating and moaning as if they are one. Security forces want to hold the crowd back to keep him safe, but he is loved as a man of the people and he draws them forth. They weep in exultation.

On Wednesday morning his motorcade passes in front of my apartment building. I count twelve policemen on motorcycles, six SUVs weaving between lanes, their back gates open and automatic weapons held aloft, a silver limousine with flags flying and several more limos behind it, four police cars, an ambulance and a fire engine bringing up the rear. A man of the cloth can never be watched carefully enough.

On Wednesday afternoon I join the crowd of eleven thousand at the parade stand. A few come with their own agendas and foist banners skyward or screech with intent, but the crowd stills them. God's love cannot be shaken. God's love overpowers and enslaves.

A small girl runs through the crowd and emerges from between the barricades. Five secret service men grab her and hold her back, but the man of the people beckons her and the guards deliver her unto him. He blesses and kisses her. His kiss is chaste, a kiss of love from his God. I am shaken and I weep.

This afternoon the man of the people is moving on to another of his flocks, and I am overwhelmed by a need to see him once more. I ride the elevator to the top floor of my apartment building and emerge onto the roof. I feel exhilarated, and my heart is throbbing. I stare into the heavens and then down to the ground, awaiting his advance. The sirens roar and I feel him coming. I know that if I time it right, I can undulate and flail, and he will see me and beckon me unto him. The lights flash, the flags on the limousine wave, and I tremble in awe. He calls me and I deliver myself to his loving embrace, an embrace that would never be impure. I lift my arms and they flutter. I step from the rooftop and tumble toward the ground, ecstatic to receive a chaste kiss.