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From contemplation in the orange garden
to a hushed gloom
where light hangs in bowls
like censers, spills over
an astonishment of arches
in white and red
stretching to infinity
on a history of classic pillars.
We are enveloped in Moorishness,
dwarfed by starry domes
that seem to float on filigree.
Drawn by the distant light
of the holy Mihrab,
we move on, under confusions
of horseshoe and multi-lobed arches
upon arches,
reaching for a vision of holiness.
We round a pillar
glimpse the face of some
Renaissance Pope, like a mirage.
Another arch, and
never having found a door
we're suddenly in a Christian nave
of soaring gothic tracery.
Brick fuses with stone
east with west
Moor with Christian,
as lover with lover,
sharing this holy ground.