The Pope's Penis - Sharon Olds

It hangs deep in his robes, a delicate
clapper at the center of a bell.
It moves when he moves, a ghostly fish in a
halo of silver seaweed, the hair
swaying in the dark and the heat -- and at night
while his eyes sleep, it stands up
in praise of God.

~Sharon Olds (1942- )
http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/Sharon-Olds/5582