Dead of Christ, a pieta of marble
counting in hundreds of papal gold
like Judas I did good, knowing
cardinal promises to be more beautiful in stone
the Master of fine ornaments, with
crude hammer did rough out
this statue like David, blessed with sweet poesy
and true moral philosophy, sipping ale with the angels
in the courtyard of virtue and as giants, he lay bare
in cathedral yards,
placed above the pilasters within the heralds of the cosmos;
the native city, portraying images of hero and king, bearing
emblems of cross and lily
I give preference to none, but to the noble spirit striving
in the grandeur of nature, desiring light to darkness
trapped in the truth of darkness, in the lie I saw light
rags and rags; more like the filth in my soul
just beyond the walls of necropolis
is a home for us all