Seven swords of light
the pulse,
(pulse, pulse) as the bellows
swell and sigh. Seven shades--
the faded stained glass--mixing
with the dust passing
in (and out) of the illuminations.
Sunday morning
is torn by the trumpets.
Church windows
shatter.
Unbreakable
triptych.
There are
seven sacred mysteries,
a trinity unhinged. At night,
no fire in the eyes,
the windows turn
to ice, black ice
with cracks sutured with hammered lead,
the fleeting fix
to an imperishable problem.
"This journal is not a mere literary diversion. The further I progress, reducing to order what my past life suggests, and the more I persist in the rigor of composition--of the chapters, of the sentences, of the book itself--the more do I feel myself hardening in my will to utilize, for virtuous ends, my former hardships. I feel their power." --Jean Genet
Showing posts with label church windows. Show all posts
Showing posts with label church windows. Show all posts
19 December 2010
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