saint somebody’s
construction in the sanctuary,
clamor of machines, pneumatic
this and that, hard hats,
laughter under weight of angels
peering down. sneakers on mosaic.
murals through floating dust.
a hammer. metal on tile, smell
of things torn down. sunlight
in rivers through open doors,
lunchtime rush still streaming in,
long dark skirts, coins fed
to the wooden box. icons, gold
and gold, wide-eyed behind
smudges from lips and breath.
at the virgin, a grown man,
forehead pressed to hers.
lips moving silently, reciting,
fingers stroking down the glass.
on his face, something that hurts
to see. workers pass and cross
themselves, back and forth, hands
like birds. a drill, high whine.
candles in ranks of gentle smoke.
orange vests, rough beams
on their shoulders, shouting
from the back. down the steps,
traffic. exhaust like incense.
a beggar on the curb,
her child on her knees.