..from The Lost Neighborhood.. ‘Meetings’


 

 

 

 

 

 

I stand in the Sistine Chapel alone
– the crowd reverent and quiet, now disappeared;
the scent of centuries drifting down
from the sacred ceilinged meeting of God
And Man, not even the ordinary everyday would
begin to touch the slight reel of dust
as it mingles there, rising upward as I can
almost hear the flush of history outside:
Roman soldiers, not the carabinieri with
machine guns on every corner, alert for the Coming
of the Red Brigades or other victims of circumstance

God’s present and alive fully within, wondrous
each point we grasp, whether bloody
or noble; the shouts in the street, the quietude
as I move, walking through St.Peter’s Square,
to stand on the Spanish Steps, feet away from
the room I enter then, where Keats’ gasped his
tubercular air that would inspire Dylan into song,
and Shelley: everything so sweet and fair, forever
young – no signs, yet flesh despairs and doesn’t wake
to even that moment as we touch hands
through what remains still and rare, which we conspire to make

 

© Dean Baker

“Required reading for anyone wanting to learn about wit, wordplay, and good, gritty writing in general. Dean Baker knows how to turn a phrase upside down and kick it full strength out the door. Five stars, and here’s to many more…”

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9 thoughts on “..from The Lost Neighborhood.. ‘Meetings’

      1. ConsideRinG
        I hate money..
        i’ll send you
        Some when
        i get filthy
        Rich if
        i do not
        Avoid that
        Fresh Hell..
        Considering
        i used your words
        All for free.. heAr iN
        pART.. @lEast
        For
        mUse..;)

        Like

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