San Chappelle

AUGUST’S
EVE

In the gloaming

Afterglow

The sanctuary’s

State,

Displays a splendor

August,

From mid-month

Into late.

Where brushed-gold

Baldechino

Dissolves to

Honey yellows,

Rust pillars’ veined

In cream and white,

Together meld

And mellows.

The beryl blues

Shift into hues,

Dark glassed

But not dejected,

While cardinal-prime,

Burgundy blood of the vine,

Rages scarlet

As the serpent’s rejected.