71 – “Our hands shake …”
Our hands shake as we try to construct you,
block on block.
But you, cathedral we dimly perceive –
who can bring you to completion?
What is Rome? It crumbled.
What is the world? We are destroying it
before your towers can taper into spires,
before we can assemble your face
from the piles of mosaic.
Yet sometimes in dreams
I take in your whole expanse,
from its deepest beginnings
up to the rooftop’s glittering ridge.
And then I see: it is my mind
that will fashion
and set the last pieces in place.
Note: While on vacation I would like to share this beautiful poem from the “Book of Hours” by Reiner Maria Rilke (translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy). Next regular post will be published on February 1, 2013.