flower gilded ceilings reflect the glinted gold
its ribbons wrap arches that spread artificial suns
Mary shields her face from the fiery light that spears the paintings
soft stars tickle baby Jesus in waves of pale pastel
surfing the creases of his clothes
embracing both mother and child
a ghostly nun, her bewildered face a dirty white
and the rest of her blends into the shadows of her dark habit
frail and empty like broken flower petals and stain-washed waters
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