cathedral
cool stone and green shadows
and hushed stained glass
spilling
every taste of the rainbow
onto the endless floor.
quiet voices
talk to God,
or maybe,
just to themselves,
while all around them angels
melt out of the woodwork,
wings spread for flight.
and i can hear the musty saints dreaming
and the moss growing
on the living walls.
and here,
i feel a small vibration between my ribs,
just begging me
to run outside,
singing,
to where doves wheel
among ecstatic flying buttresses,
weaving images of holiness
into the very fabric
of the air.
