Forget the lens, the open window
Look only through the cathedral stained glass.
And if you see me, flickering within
Bent around the photons, in peace leave me.
Better to be seen between the lines
Barely glimpsed, a shard in the whole.
Shattered bits of colored glass reassembled
A simulacrum of a pattern in God's realm.
See me in the lead-lined spires
In the gargoyle's leer, the swinging smoke.
See me in the blessed saint's entreating hands,
In the monstrance that carries the knuckle bone.
Behold the mosaic floor beneath your feet
And there find me in perhaps every indigo tile.
I am the wood that resides beneath the gilt,
The honey-scented beeswax, but not the candle flame.
Think not to find me in a singular place
As a penitent kneeling at the altar rail.
I am more the third from the last bead
In a long and weary rosary.
(c) Stacie Ferrante
7-1-08
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