Glory
Patrick T. Reardon
One-Cent knew his name.
Declare the glory — firmament, handywork.
Tabernacle of the sun.
From the darkness of the womb,
One-Cent knew his name,
in the forming of his sinews,
in the knitting of his bones.
Explosive birth.
Day unto day — speech.
Night unto night — wonder.
Race run.
One-Cent followed the line
through all the earth to the end of the world,
to the end of the heaven.
Nothing hid,
not his name,
nor the face of the deep.
Law and testimony.
Faults cleansed.
On his dung heap, One-Cent
knew his name wise and simple,
true and righteous — more than gold,
than fine gold, honey sweet.
Words of my mouth,
my heart.
He never repented his knowledge.
Patrick T. Reardon
3.24.26
This poem originally appeared at The Write Launch, Number 104, February, 2026
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.