Duomo
You can smell
The pebbles
Hot beneath the lonely sun.
The cathedral
Proud and pointing up,
Converted gold untold
To mortar, stones,
Artistic glory,
Awing and reminding vulgar villagers
Of divinity intruding on finite reality,
Eternity.
I want to round the corner
On the gravel boulevard
And find you standing
Like a sacred church
Beneath the open sky.
- 6/8/26
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