The first time Michele Ferrero came to Lourdes, he felt as if he had stepped out of time. The grotto was not grand like a cathedral. It was a hollow in a cliff, damp and dark, with water trickling from the stone like tears. Candles burned by the thousands, their flames trembling as if they, too, were praying. He removed his hat and whispered, “Madonna mia. This is where You came.” His wife, Maria, stood beside him. “It is so simple,” she said. “I thought it would be magnifice

The Captured Gaze (Saint Bernadette in Ecstasy, Seeing Our Lady) The camera flash, a sharp and sudden flare, Did not distract the girl, transfixed in prayer. She kneels alone, though lights and people fill the space, A heavenly wonder shone upon her face. The Rosary beads slipped from her loosened hand, Her soul was absent, in a holier land. Her gaze is fixed where no one else can see, On a memory from the chestnut tree. The photographer stole a shadow, cold and faint, A mome