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.

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