moonlight bathes the seven cathedrals

Suture of granite
Stitch spire to bleached sky,
Cathedral of breaths
Vesper whispers
Rushing into belfry wind
Swept, to drift softly
Settle in dark nave, like snow.
Intimately limned as a sketch
Of Michelangelo on Sistine steps.

Cathedral of poems
Curling, yellowing, words
Made from water and time,
Flowers on the stalk
We hold in marble hands.

Our voices roll over
Mouthfuls of bricks -
This awkward anthology of us
Blisters paint from a clayed narthex,
Blooms as diamonds in our chests
Glistening dizzily, press each
Asterion star of her close to me.

In solemn cloisters
Priests dance their legs to the knees,
In sinned repose, they clothed
Death’s surrogate surplices;
Bishop mitre is mightier than the sword.

Cathedral of books
Pleases lips to fall open,
Palimpsest of stained glass
Pores over centuries old paper,
Incessant river’ed light
Hammers beams to window,
Stops the ceiling falling
Forever, or so it seems.

We craft our cathedral from
Salt, honey and blessings……
Silken summer breeze wine.

Behold limb of God
Hands to caress
Shoulders to sleep on.
Our inner communion
We make love demonically -
Praise to the glory of cultures undressed.

The cathedral at night is beautiful.