With candor, the devil (silhouetted,
visage effaced, torso highlighted with
As if someone had tried to rid the world of this image of evil with an
Points down from the height of the temple's crenellation. Jesus rebukes
Down here, a quorum of pigeons preens and paces between a swath of sunlight
And a colonnade of skewed shadows, congregates and liftsone body
subsumed in glare.
The headache keeps me from the apprehension of immanence.
I stand in the shade of battlements, towers, the wall's embrasures,
heat-stung, dizzy, disoriented.
Through some gift of intuition, perhaps,
know what it is I do not know.
I construct an I who senses, in the stark Siena noon, God with us,
Among us, in us. By us I mean only the I and only for that instant.
Inch by inch, a story, although unraveled and ragged
at its end, continues:
The ether of grief transmutes into tears, the tears into relics, the relics
I spend the afternoon studying Duccio's depiction of the entry into Jerusalem.
Is the look of awe on the faces in the crowd the awe of wonder, or the
I admit I'd be reading ahead if I said this had the look of a funeral
I've been known to stand at a height ( in a bell tower,
on the catwalk
circumscribing a cathedral's dome)
And to imagine the stepping out and off, the curve of, the acceleration
of the fall,
And to imagine the distance of the fall
three or four seconds of calm, of
Three or four seconds without misgivings, retractions, or apologia,
An amplitude of lightness in which, despite evidence to the contrary,
seems to levitate.
return to top