Constantine's Dream

In Arezzo I dreamed a dream

Of Saint Francis who kneeled and prayed

For the birds and the beasts and all humankind

All through the night I felt drawn in by him

And I heard him call

Like a distant hymn

I retreated from the silence of my room

Stepping down the ancient stones washed with dawn

And entered the basilica that bore his name

Seeing his effigy I bowed my head

And my racing heart I gave to him

I kneeled and prayed

And the sleep that I could not find in the night

I found through him

I saw before me the world of his world

The bright field,the birds in abundance

All of nature of which he sang

Singing of him

All the beauty that surrounded him as he walked

His nature that was nature itself

And I heard him-I heard him speak

And the birds sang sweetly

And the wolves licked his feet

But I could not give myself to him

I felt another call from basilica itself

Tha call of art-the call of man

And the beauty of material drew me away

And I awoke,and beheld upon the wall

The dream of Constantine

The handiwork of Piero della Francesca

Who had stood where I stood

With his brush stroked The Legend of the True Cross

He envisioned Constantine advancing to greet the enemy

But as he was passing the river

An unaccustomed fear gripped his bowels

An anticipation so overwhelming that it manifested in waves

All through the night a dream drew toward him

As an advancing Crusade

He slept in his tent on the battlefield

While his men stood guard

And an angel awoke him

Constantine within his dream awoke

And his men saw a light pass over the face of the king

The troubled King

And the angel came and showed to him

The sign of the true cross in heaven

And upon it was written

(In this sign shall thou conquer)

In the distance the tents of his army were lit by moonlight

But another king of radiance lit the face of Constantine

And in the morning light

The artist,seeing his work was done

Saw that it was good

(In this sign shall thou conquer)

He let his brush drop and passed into a sleep of his own

And he dreamed of Constantine carrying into battle in his right hand

An immaculate,undefiled single white Cross

Piero della Francesca,as his bursh stroked the wall

Was filled with a torpor

And fell into a dream of his own

From the geometry of his heart he mapped it out

He saw the King rise,fitted with armor

Set upon a white horse

An immaculate cross in his right hand

He advanced toward the enemy

And the symmetry,the perfection of his mathematics

Caused the scattering of the enemy

Agitated,broken,they fled

And Piero della Francesca waking,cried out

All is art-all is future!

Oh lord let me die on the back of advanture

With a brush and an eye full of light

But as he advanced in age

The light was shorn from his eyes

And blinded,he laid upon his bed

On an October moring 1492,and whispered

Oh lord let me die on the back of adventure

Oh lord let me die on the back of adventure

And a world away-a world away

On three great ships

Adventure itself as if to answer

Pulling into the New World

And as far as his eyes could see

No longer blind

All of nature unspoiled-beautiful-beautiful

In such a manner that would have lifted the heart of St.Francis

Into the realm of universal love