The Cathedral
Peace is a mirror:
it embroiders its smooth surface,
its rest,
a faint script,
and trembles like a street
in the abandoned silence of a Sunday,
like a white smoke,
like the last smoke from fire,
the first smoke from fire.
Peace is a doubt or the reflection of the world
or the silent prayer
that prepares for the light of battle,
for movement and rupture.Like the dark and rough cathedral
where stone and bronze and wood hold still,
peace is that fire reflected,
the stoked fire,
the red-hot coals of peace.
Translated by Jane Durran
Page(s) 253-254
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