Berni Dwan, Memorials


Freiburg Münster

God’s compass tapers heavenward, its tracery stuffed with sky. So many artificers of
wood and stone would never see your majesty complete, replete with buttresses that
fly. I conjure rugged masons in tool-stuffed aprons, putting trust in God, in future
imaginings. For generations, the millrace genius of their craft will rally the
millwheel to glorify their Saviour. God’s journeymen, grist to the mill
of eternal salvation, a stumbling block to perpetual damnation. If
they hewed and wrought and thought of Heaven and Hell — the
bell calling angels – the demon chasing gargoyles — they
did so in good faith. Wielding sharpened tools, they
thanked Christ for granting them a prized trade
with the jealous shade of its holy guild that
lesser mortals would have killed for.

I behold your final majesty
as I drink my coffee in Cathedral
Square. Hardly seems just — that dust of

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