This poem was written after visiting the Almudena Cathedral in Madrid, Spain.
Reaching. We always end with reaching. Craters in a cross Holy lips sipping a public fountain Thousands of photos on the steps where we bleed where we have bled still flashing our flesh My sneakers bearhug the earth like a mother holding her child after he has run away After he has come back to pray He was reaching. His sneakers untied, laces skipping gravel he was not ready to walk on. But here his little feet will sing up and down the aisle of the Almudena Cathedral where windows braid into sky where pews lullaby each other to sleep where ceilings folds into rainbow fans, faces like hands, creased and ready. Old feet sigh here Step up, high Tears in color Mighty cries