I can make just this world
of praise: the cathedral
chants symmetry’s question:
the pursed-past-suffering
arches sustain
the angels’ dripping
play: the ceiling’s
spheres flush light
where bounty where loss
are downwardness
and the floor’s cut quartz planets
are open milkjars,
swirled, to be stepped on,
to stain, to lie
unchanging –
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Excerpting Senior Writers: Isabel Kaplan '12