(after the duomo in siena)

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.