Flashes of gold under spotlights inside St. Mark’s.
We stare upward.
Inlaid jewels catch and throw the light.
Color moves across the surface — reds, deep blues, green glass.
To honor the relics of Saint Mark the Evangelist,
carried here from Alexandria in the 9th century —
they say, hidden in a basket of pork. to pass inspection.
A display of Venetian power and wealth, built to be seen by all the nations.
A city measuring itself against Rome and Constantinople.
Low murmurs rise from the seated groups.
Then the lights dim.
The gold sinks back into shadow above.
People drift back toward the square.
I turn the other way.
Toward the narrow stone stairs.
The crypt where he lies.
The light drops quickly.
The air changes first — cooler, heavier.
Still and moist. It settles on the skin.
The first step down dulls the sound behind me.
Voices flatten and fade.
The ceiling lowers.
The walls close in.
