Faint footsteps follow and fall
there upon the hard, stone floor
reddened and warmed in the sunset glow.
And the patient peaceful footfalls.
clinking rosaries, rustling cassocks
are muted in the misty dusk of prayer
that falls on the shadowed black figures,
that gently lifts them from life
to a dream, a vision,
an ecstasy of light and love.
They wait, and He comes
and He breathes here,
in the somber, incensed soulful stillness
of the twilight cloister.