He
The way he makes us feel is like the vaults
In high cathedrals. High and higher still
They rise within our hearts with all their faults
Though far above us like a sacred grille
He sets out forms for irises and souls.
The complications of the stonework cry
Out. Holier than hidden Dead Sea Scrolls,
Designs spread out as if against a sky
In heaven tell us more than we can know
From words and hymns. Complexity of stone
And shape is lit up by an eldritch glow
As if from relics of a saint’s bleached bone.
If we could love his preternatural eyes
Eternity would makes us all unwise.