St. Gertrude of August

I'm missing something here, help me out:
I saw them when I was crossing the village, warming up seconds before the pagan rummage began.
They were confident of each other, flipped with a vouching technique.

Rather giddy and overwhelmed
I heard my name,
I said - I turned - I said: "Yes?"

Lord knows I could see your clay teeth in the shine with:

a Caesar in the making,
a boy helding his daughter, saying: "Alas, bring ice into my mid-twenties daughter", and
a wise willowlike man calling out "I named to salute."

"Oh," - I leaned towards Bernadette: "Let us leave,



our future is kept pure in our sane mind."
St. Gertrude acts: It was pure in the seventh day of The Haze of Augustine
but now the dull bodies serve as a left-over, for another sacrament.

I could not conceive myself belonging here, I grabbed
Bernadette by the hand, I said:
"I can still break another jaw or two."

Our feast is held by a thin line, and struck by lightning.

Bernadette held a rosary with a veil atop her head.
I said goodbye to August: "I leaked my eyes out at your ending."