in your house, o God,
polished stones cry out
(did they suffer
as the saints and martyrs
brought up from the ground
and glorified?)
i can hear them
through the candle's whisper
(in your house, o God);
do the upright ones
strain against the weight
of stories up above
the saints and martyrs
brought up from the earth
and glorified?
the windows speak
a word, and it was
(as if from your Mouth)
in your house, o God.
when i enter, do you Go,
or does the wind of your spirit
sweep across the floor
while the incense of each whisper
is Inhaled by heaven's lungs
of those who warm its breath,
in your house, o God
how bright do electric lights
shine upon your Face,
transfiguring, as it were,
imago dei,
or as you were
brought up from the ground
and Glorified.
we try to gaze upon it
(in the midst of the stories)
but we shine as though
a flicker
in the incense of your house
and now we still see
dimly
in your house, o God.
