Pantoum Christened in the Met Cloisters

for Sophie Main

Beneath the arch’s underbelly, a prayer falls to our heartbeats.
This is how I touch my humanity: fingers trailing a lavender stalk,
whispers dripping in hushed symphony until its perfume wards
off yesterday’s sunken breath. Here, you count to three

& this is how I touch my humanity: fingers trailing a lavender stalk,
chasing the seasons for any promise that June will not melt
off yesterday’s sunken breath. Here, you count to three,
your voice hugging the heat the way I have always remembered

chasing the seasons for any promise that June will not melt
summer’s cavernous skies into shadows of stained glass. Listen to
your voice hugging the heat the way I have always remembered
Bible verses: tender but not yet ripe, like kissing a saint under

summer’s cavernous skies into shadows of stained glass. Listen to
these sun-shrined walls & uncover the secrets of this tomb, of its
Bible verses: tender but not yet ripe, like kissing a saint under
history’s grassy vistas, lavender pressed into your palms. Shed

these sun-shrined walls & uncover the secrets of this tomb, of its
whispers dripping in hushed symphony until its perfume wards
history’s grassy vistas, lavender pressed into your palms. Shed
beneath the arch’s underbelly, a prayer falls to our heartbeats.

Read more from Issue 22.1.