Interior darkness is
what I remember most,
a soft darkness, mellowed
by centuries, a friendly
mystery to wrap myself in
as I walked through wood
and stone. Candles, lit
in supplication all over.
Lots of people, speaking
a babble of tongues, usually
looking up and pointing
to the darkness clustered
on the ceiling.
The darkness remained,
though, until I turned
and saw the window,
a rose of glorious colors
even without direct sun.
I saw the rose again,
twenty years later
almost to the day, but
this time a view from
the outside, and the rose
backlit by yellow-orange
light. I thought again
of that older darkness,
now dispelled for a moment
at least, and I wished
I could have had
the darkness back.
the darkness back.
Photograph of Notre Dame du Paris Cathedral by Daniele D’Andreti via Unsplash. Used with permission.
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