Tuesday, June 27, 2017

James Davis - Basilica

I push the stout oak door
And slip in under the oval dome.
Silence summons me in.
Muffled echoes brood over the stone
And under the pews offering
Neither text nor tune nor shaft of light
But mute all until even waiting falls away.
The silence inhales me into itself.
A pilgrim enters from the back;
His footsteps echo inside me.
He prostrates himself on the floor.
The flagstone is cold against my forehead. 

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