I can see that when traffic at your corner's stopped,
and flashing lights in blue and red signal the arrival of our escort,
you will be disconcerted; soon, an altar boy will be beside you
and staring down at his calm face, you will calm in turn.
We must arrive at the basilica at the perfect light of day,
the perfect honored hour. Of all waiting inside, not one
does not feel a hollow and a fear that he or she will fail.
They bend in arcs of grace as doors open to ceremony
and looks from a country foreign to your every day
flood the interior. This is gallantry of forgotten kind to you, beloved
of me, who slept in viaduct and were rolled by boys who made
you curse. Rain halted fitful sleep. Coins of light showering
down make known what is put away. Music rains on nave and aisle
as even on the sunniest day. Does it not halt
your walk with speech that gives more than we,
all those times we sped as you stood bare? Does it
not make a hundred baths for a thousand lonely days? Step and
step forward once again, for if you wake then I too, I swear, will slay
the light that lies. You must reach the apse. You must reflect windows more
bejewelled than these, if we are not to perish in the dark and refire
in your mercy. We await you at the font,
we teem beside columns and pictured scenes
of sacrifice pale and unworthy of modern pain. Step and step
again with boys long practiced in procession. Forgiveness is the only faith
worth wearing as a vestment. Reach the dome, turn and say, Dona Nobis
Pacem.