Thursday, January 30, 2014



Below the painted heavens
and the hand outstretched
of God,
are tiles,
unnoticed, not seen.
They, so small across, span
the length of the room, the
hall, the
holy place.

Circles within circles
flowers blooming from chips of stone
turned to jewels by sunlight.
The same light that does not 
fully illume that exalted,
vaulted, beloved ceiling.

Geometric pattern-dance
made from mosaic,
proclaiming "glory, glory,"
in softer tones 
overshadowed by Angel song.

Footsteps, stumbling over
as all cross.
Their heads are tilted up in awe

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