Elisabeth's Pen

                             Do you know the place he dwells, between plaster walls and alter calls?
                               Do the stain glass windows hold him in, or is the breath of his presence
                           able to transcend the archaic rhyme? I feel the breath of him on the street, in the
                              wind that passes me by. Though, he is less ethereal than we, the creation,
                          pretend him to be. He is the voice of revelation when confusion ensues. He is
                              my shot of hope when doubt has tightened its grip. He is more than than the
                       brick and plaster of emotionless ground I have held him too. Look, see, he is
                                           right here.



   













St. Francis Cathedral, Santa, Fe, NM