From 'The Double' Xlll Poem by Morgan Michaels

'Catholicism', sniffed Langley, 'is a hard act to follow'.

They waited on the portico, letting their eyes adjust to the brightness.

Behind them towered the cathedral of Santiago, made of white limestone and painted a milky yellow. At either front cornice rose turrets in the neo-classical style, painted pale gray. Together, they'd toured the interior for half an hour, avoiding the supplicants who filled the front pews and silently prayed. Their fervor surprised Langley, who noted it from the corner of his eye.

Now and again, they parted, one falling behind to read a marble-hewn tribute to the long-dead inhabitant of some wall tomb. 'Died of fever...of wounds sustained...died in childbirth'. So many people- and, for each, a death, mused Langley. But they soon drew together as if magnetized because they enjoyed making the same discovery of the same thing at the same moment. Or differing discoveries. It didn't matter. The ease and openness of exchange is what made each invaluable to the other.

It was dim in the old church, even at noon, despite rafts of flickering candles. A paltry daylight streamed in from narrow windows set below rafters high in the cella. Still, you could see the repair scars in walls many times cracked by earthquake. Looking up made their necks ache The ceiling bore no fresco. Instead, it was stuccoed over with plaster fleurettes of a certain noteworthiness.

Finishing their tour, they left. From the portico they studied the dancing waters of the bay. It lay in the distance, cool and blue, and beyond it lay the sea. Langley tried to imagine it bristling with Spanish galleons. Each drew a cigarette from his pocket and together they smoked. One departing old abuela shot them a look of disapproval, stopping to watch its effect. Langley plucked the cigarette from his mouth, prepared to crush it underfoot, but Miggi merely turned his back and placidly continued to smoke. Encouraged by his example, Langley followed suite until the abuela grunted and went her way. Preparing to descend, Langley stared up at the stone angel standing behind the facade against the blue. Washed in sunlight, the angel peered out over the city from a stone settee as if wondering the best casa to spend the night.

Suddenly, it seemed lonely on the portico.

'Bamos, said Miggi, decisively, stepping on his cigarette end, 'I'm satisfied.

'What do you mean...