In the front of the great assertion that is Reims,
one Angel smiles.
He is Gabriel, delicately boned, familiar,
he has turned towards the Virgin
who stands in her long solemnity,
amongst the sober prophets,
and the proper saints.
His is a telling smile,
one that might not easily be disregarded;
one small, infecting verb of grace
to animate the prophets, kings and holy folk
to truly rise
in this celestial curvature of stone
that human hands
have only just begun.