I think of that day in the Palazzo
with crowds off the cruise ships
jostling with other tourists
and the sunlight fragmented through
tile and crenulation, gutter and masts
flashing on tens of thousands
of mobile and tablet screens,
an outpouring of need pointed the way
of the Basilica, its gold leaf ablaze,
and how we made our way as quickly
as possible from that griddle
of humanity past the aims and angles
as if through a firing range.
Now looking back I wonder
how many pictures of the cathedral
have parts of us, perhaps a hand,
a denim collar, a boot, some strands
of hair, a half frown, a quizzical smile,
maybe a hint of that anxiety or hope,
and I wonder if it’s possible
on some breakfast bar in Sapporo
or some laptop in Long Beach
or some eternal annexe of the mind
for us to be reassembled again.