By now, most of us have seen the photo of Pope Francis embracing the man whose body is covered with tumors. The photo fills me with awe each time I see it. It also makes me think of this haunting poem, by my friend Ned Balbo, which addresses the opposite of that loving gesture--the all-too-human impulse to avert our eyes, to speed up our pace, to shrink from the afflicted: Fire Victim Once, boarding the train to New York City, The aisle crowded and all seats filled, I glimpsed An open space--more pushing, stuck in place-- and then saw why: a man, face peeled away, Sewn back in haste, skin grafts that smeared like wax spattered and frozen, one eye flesh-filled, smooth, One cold eye toward the window. Cramped, shoved hard, I, too, passed up the seat, the place, and fought on Through to the next car, and the next, but now I wonder why the fire that could have killed him Spared him, burns scarred over; if a life is what he calls this space through which he moves, D