The quietness of time still ancient yawns
above the chapel, seat-still pews, slow stretching
wooden backs. Christ shining, Christ gold, dawn
in a fragile frame, eternal glowing,
naming every element in silent sheets
of unsaid sound, air living in its part-
icles, alive in movements too discreet
for sight, molecular, the holy heart.
In silence. But a silence firecharged, as
that strong and silent sun of gold keeps watch,
and in cool air, has almost melted, has
already melted me. Has fast dispatched
the stone that builds my body, rolled back time,
has blinded me, and blessed with sight the blind.
