Sistine

Sistine

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

thresholds,

as all cross.

Their heads are tilted up in awe