Dorsey paints with people
dips into their hearts
where all colors
have merged
to mud
***
Gently
lays them out
ultraviolet to infrared
spaces between clearly seen
and hands them back the brush
Standing at last
in medieval thought made visible
one hundred and seventy three of the most
beautiful stained glass windows in the world
ten thousand figures in glass and stone
Feeling the light and form form feelings
Dorsey and I drift apart
pulled for a moment by different magnets
I look up I have no words
I beckon her over she crosses the rough stone
I kiss her gently hold her a moment and
point to the small center window
high in the west side of the south wing
Where light breaking through cloud
throws fractured beams
through centuried dust
in an exact way and at an exact angle
that it has never slanted before
and will never slant again
We wander in awe
together and apart
light candles, marvel at the art
Famous labyrinth where penitents
crawled three football fields on their knees
Without knowing it had once been there
I miss the Minotaur in the middle
As evening falls I sit on a stone step
by the central altar
watching
for a long time the sun as it sinks
rising in the West Rose Window
From the center
each ring moving outward
moves towards me in explosion 3D
Again I have no words
The words are
From the unquestionable hand
of the undeniable God
a universe flung forth
in crystal cacophony
and order
If you’re going to grow old anyway
Consider doing it as an artist or a poet
Waxing powers may well meet the waning
Tides coming in meeting waves going out
Coals cooling as the iron tempers
Michelangelo
polished the Pieta, polished the Pieta
polished the Pieta
Tired past all tired
polished the Pieta, polished the Pieta
polished the Pieta
Polishing her breast
he fell into a sleep, fell into a sleep in the
arms of the Pieta
When the polishing was done Michelangelo
stood back
The Mother was alive, the Mother had an
Aura and the Mother was alive
And yet the Son, the Son lay dead, the Son
lay dead there in her arms
In the mind of Michelangelo a thought began
to grow
Unworthy, unworthy, unworthy
yet I know
I must take the red black blood, I must take
the red black blood
From his side of cold white marble
I must take the blood within me, I must take
the blood within me, I must take the blood of
death, I must take the blood of death to the
center of myself
Unworthy, unworthy, yet unworthy
in my prayer
I must change the blood that’s there
In the mind of Michelangelo, in the mind of
Michelangelo, in the midst of Michelangelo
the red black blood was changed to light
unworthy, unworthy, unworthy
Michelangelo
the red black blood was changed to light
Then the mind of Michelangelo
saw the light return to marble through the
marble hole in side
Saw the Aura of the Mother
saw the energy of Mary
Saw the energy of Mary through her arms
into her Son
Saw the Christ no more of death, saw the
Christ to be reborn
When Michelangelo lay dying
When Michelangelo lay dying and his
friends were gathered round
They saw him tired past all tired on a cot
within his home
When Michelangelo lay dying
When Michelangelo lay dying, he saw the
statue and the stone
Saw the polishing was done
And fell into a sleep
In the arms of the Mother, in the arms
of the Mother
