about lions in St. Mark's square

When I was in Venice this past week, one of my most favorite discoveries was the winged lions scattered all over the city -- they are the symbol of Venice, having been the symbol of Mark, for whom the church in the main square is dedicated.  

I'm not sure when my thing with lions started, but they fascinate me - by far my favorite animal.  I find them to be beautiful and strong and they remind of things that are certain and unapologetically glorious and beyond our limited capacities.  When I first saw these particular lions, I stumbled into St. Mark's square lost and unaware of the beauty of that place.  They stood out to me and mesmerized me, these gorgeous stone creatures keeping watch over the city, reminding it's inhabitants to be brave.  Before I left, I bought a little glass lion I found in a shop near the square.  It's sitting on my shelf now, encouraging me to be courageous and not to run from things more beautiful than my understanding. 

Here's a little poem about those things. 

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Lions in St. Mark’s Square

Lost wandering through the city,

a family of Mississippians finds us

sitting on a bridge, lighting up a map

with our phones, finding us as lost

people find each other, each bearing

tired and wandering faces.

We talk about the maze of this city, 

the way the streets bleed into each other

like they were in battle, all dying

to themselves and belonging to an endless

story of turns and defeats.  They walk us into

the square and I was so lost earlier

that I forgot what is it was to be

astonished, but remember it suddenly

so strongly that all I can keep

in that moment is what’s before me:

golden domes draped in shadow, towers

reaching for clouds that cap the canal,

moonlight drifting over ornate columns

and onto the shoulders of two quartets

who fill the space with competing magic,

music that surrenders itself upon the other.

After taking this in, I notice them

scattered all around the square –

Lions, winged stone figures whose

faces contort, belting out almighty,

silent roars over this city and its

wanderers.  One stands high above

the entrance to the square, eyes

gazing out toward the blue water

beyond, so beautifully certain he rules

even over that place, and more --

and in seeing it I become a lost lamb

asked not to run at the sight

of something holier, and the lions

watching over the night bid me to trust, 

and stay.