Iron frames preserve the immortality
of a soul understood only in Latin
and seen flickering through candlelight
dancing off an icon’s eyes
workers on the outside patch up stone
people in the pews look down
Why is it that we stare at the ground when we pray?

I want to press my palms against the cold stone floor
feel for the heat lying beneath
Do these peoples’ feet burn?
I want to light a candle
but I think I have to pay for that

Do the ones on the frames understand
that the heaven they are climbing towards
is also what they’re building
does the man in the suit who glares at me
know I’m looking for it too?

But that’s just the thing about humans
we build ancient cathedrals in invincible cities
and refuse to let them fall
believing their eternity is here
in the pews where we pray
we look down and patch up