Upon Viewing August Rodin's Bronzes: The Cathedral Poem by Dennis Ryan

Monday morning, January 8, 2024 at 9: 48 a.m.; Tuesday morning, January 16, 2024, begun at 6: 36 a.m. and completed at 7: 38 a.m.

"The gospel changes meaning if you follow John or Paul,
And could you ever … be the Mary [Magdelene] of it all …"
—Tori Amos, "Mrs. Jesus", You Tube Music Video

Most real, most private goes deep-deep down inside
the cathedral—no one need remind us of this after all
is said and done, after all that has gone on between us,
reminding me in some ways of Watanabe and Naoko,
their relationship, Watanabe's dilemma, his subsequent
decision to join Midori afterwards …. I discovered you
at the base, standing silently, waiting on the bottom stone
steps of the cathedral, your right hand and wrist curving
up and over mine until our fingers finally met, our fingertips
touching just so, our right arms entwined—as the bronze
sculpture by Rodin suggests— as we stood face to face,
"frente a frente" for the first time. We met. (Do you recall
that first meeting?) . Our eyes met: one thousand candles
blazed inside the cathedral doors in that instant. (Eyes can
lie, though touch does not.) Yesterday, I viewed the bronze again, few people paying it any mind, there being so many Rodin sculptures there, in the near vicinity. But it is The Cathedral that speaks the truth to me—the way your eyes
do when you look at me; the way your body sways towards mine when I pass nearby; the way you speak to me, softly, encouragingly, slowly pronouncing every single word. My
right index finger traces your lifeline, your right palm deep,
moist when touching mine, our fingers intertwine. All, all
of this taking place in our depths, in the cathedral's depths
though our right hands extend straight up, ascend vertically, parallel to each other, to form the cathedral's roof, the steeple,
the same way the two right hands of Rodin's sculpture does. What will happen next? That's yet to be determined. You
laughed nervously the last time we talked, the last time we
looked at one another eye to eye, and I felt a chill, a draft
at my back for the first time despite our perfect surroundings, the tasty bowl of soup we shared. I felt, feel Watanabe again, the dilemma he faced now mine. Clearly mine. That laugh—
you are hiding something in your depths I can't yet decipher.