Tonight you seek out Dante for your guide,
that mystic of the three-enfolding rhyme
up circling stairways you’re intent to climb.
With lexicon and nieces at your side,
you watch the haloed sun begin its glide
toward evening. In the air, a hint of thyme
and birdsong herald this ascent sublime
as if to reach an otherworldly bride.
What grace in Alighieri’s tongue! And faith.
A foreign land – yet here you are at home
in twining verse. The spirit rests, at ease
in knowing its own place. Where sits the wraith
of worry? Now, with God beside, you roam
the low and upper world, its parting seas.