Five stout men chat in a
vaulted aisle
Well-dressed, wearing
hats whose brims
Are jaunty and
self-confident;
The old light loves
these men.
You can see them still
The great Saenredam, a
hunchback,
Painted them in the
church
Along with two drowsy
young servants.
A girl, half-seen, sits
on a low plinth;
Far off in the vast
building
Two clergymen in black
robes
Look into each other’s
eyes.
None of them glance
towards the high ceiling
Nor scan the long
inscriptions
Engraved on the
flat-sided pillars.
The girl holds a book in
her lap
But is not reading. She
is very still.
God, it must be, has
strayed
Into His Marienkirche.
Leaning His back against
the stones
He is telling her a
story.
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