constantine's dream

i dreamed a dream of st. francis who kneeled and prayed

for the birds and the beasts and all human kind

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 sleep

that i could not find in the night

i found through him

i saw before me the world of his world

the bright fields

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 the basilica itself

the call of art

the call of man

and the beauty of the 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

and with his brush stroke

the legend of the true cross

and he envisioned constantine

advancing to greet the enemy

and 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 the 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"