You never took it for granted,
the Rotunda—no matter that you passed it
daily on your way to Mincer’s Pipe Shop
or the University Diner for grilleds and ice cream—
no matter that you and the Team once
suspended a garbage can and blue flag
flaunting a giant brassiere
atop the flagpole just in front—
no matter that you and Henry Taylor
explored its innards at 2:00 A.M.
through passages long since locked—
once standing beneath that awesome dome
you felt yourself in sacred space.
And now, walking into the Pantheon,
you feel that familiar weight, and more.
Even without a guidebook, you see
the perfect symmetry of the dome
above the cube—sense the lunar cycle
of the twenty-eight coffers
in each row—find yourself in the path
of the god’s eye centered above you,
even after eighteen centuries
still unwindowed and open to the rain.
What manner of worship or sacrifice
took place here, you do not know,
but your heart bypasses all doubts
and mysteries. A-tremble
beneath this manmade sky, you find yourself
going to your knees, no matter
what god puts you there.
