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The Pieta and the Dome of San Lorenzo
I worship all these things
or not these things
I worship your ideas
or not your ideas
I worship the light
that you first saw
long after it appeared
I gaze with longing
on your fine proportions
that are not yours alone
the texture of your vision
fascinates my fugitive soul
I have seen the silver halo
in the night above your head
above your giant body
and your being
the one of many facets
many hues
what marble can portray
you have portrayed
what passion can be found in stone
I find in your creations
The night comes
the day arrives
the river flows
the trees green
I want to know your strange joy
I want to swim
in a sea of your tears
for one minute I want to live
in the perfect mind of your Christ
I want to know how the beautiful
sounds in your innermost ear
Sometimes I remember what you said:
"I practice no art
except to love utterly
to trust utterly
to feign nothing
to hide nothing
to pour out everything
into my friend's ear
just as it comes from my heart."
I remember your turmoil
and your tortured possibilities
I've seen your red robes
and your false conscience
going up in flames
I've marveled at your faith
and your discoveries
your struggles and wars overwhelm me
what you have reached for
is gentle and monstrous
the long-buried instruments
you perform with
confound my own palette
I want to know why the world
becomes you so well.
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