Beneath the Creator’s reach, the Golden Ratio
of tourist thrum stirs guards to the mike.
Silenzio. Silence. No photo. No video.

Wonder at what ate the eyes of Michelangelo;
anciently capture a spreading dark
beneath the Creator’s reach, the Golden Ratio

breathed into brushstrokes of imagini di Dio.
The roof is eternity, tongues slowly spike.
Silenzio. Silence. No photo. No video.

This century’s guests, from Beijing to Rio,
quell themselves by Christ’s raised hand, snake
beneath the Creator’s reach, the Golden Ratio

pinched from nature’s windings. The cameo
of a fleshless selfie on a flayed saint strikes.
Silenzio. Silence. No photo. No video.

Adam sighs. Your stretch of time finito,
you can’t take with you as much as you’d like.
Beneath the Creator’s reach, the Golden Ratio,
nessun silenzio. No silence. Photo. Video.