cathedral.

--reminds me to mourn
the vaulting ceilings
the staunch pillars
the voices of them
who enter under the archway.

The shaded windows,
I know they glow
bright and holy
down on the pews.

I know spires and cones
that barb the eye
spiral to smoothness
and cup the souls
of those inside
--that once men
came together
over shards
for the sake of each other's softness.

I know this
--and it reminds me to kneel.

I am kneeling now,
on the pavement
and the wind is playing
across my forehead
--it stole through the glass
and gathered strands
from the benediction
and went skirling away
--it drapes them over my hands.

I put my eyes up,
and the bulk drags
at the bottom of my vision

I have legs
they brought me here
they could take me in, again
having chosen,
I could not mourn--
but the benediction
passes through stone.

So, I will drape my cheeks, now
I will raise my hand, a spire
and place it, unbidden
among the hands
and the shards.