At the Cross, of Changes...and an image, like a Diana,

Standing at a curious
Staring hard
At The Cross,
Of Changes,
me sees her
Like a Diana,
At a fountain marble kind,
Eternalised
As if she there sitting quiet
Of a beautiful glorious morn
In me a curious Cross dawns...

And
me takes in the Chant
Of a scripture
Flowing there
From the fountain
So spectacular,
As if finding her,
From far,
As if making out
Where
Exact
Holy devout lips
Like redness deep
Sticks...

When and how
The Cross
Of The Changes in the air mixed
me never tries
To know...
For Chants are in the air,
Like Her, Diana,
An image
Sitting quiet
By a fountain
And
me evolving...

Like a vector...
Having direction as signed on head
As if blessed by Her, Diana, the Same,
And a traveler of a defined undefined space...