June 2012

June 2012
Gregorian Chant playing.
Lying down. Overcome.

I stand at the foot of a sanctuary,
just outside of it and below the step.
I am not alone.
I wear a wedding garment
for this,
the wedding feast.

I am one with whom I have been betrothed.

Heaven witnesses,
I sense them there, watching
behind me, though I face
only the direction of the sanctuary.

The joy.

The joy.

The joy

is beyond describing.

In my bed, now seeing the light
of sunset dimming,
and not sure if the same
or another chant is playing,
I weep uncontrollably.

The difference from the warmth
of the joy of the wedding feast

to the frost of the valley of tears
is an upheaval of lament and sorrows.

I do not know how much time passed
while I was at the foot of the sanctuary
united for the wedding feast.

It is now 2017.
The union becomes clearer.
The eschatological significance
was obvious.

The wedding garment in the ecstacy
would be recognized as a chasuble
on this side of time.

In the catacombs, those in heaven wear them,
just as the priests in the liturgy wear them.

What more is there in this promise? I wait.