The gleaner woman holds grain in her arms, shes moving me, shes valuing what other don’t stop to see. In mosaics I see divine permission contrived. I see normal things like guns, pain, fairies and ecstasy. Marble stone looking like wood looking like fleshy oysters. I notice Christ last. I am calculating every stained glass window square. There are 11200 stained glass window squares. Quantifying is a way to calm the system. Now things are shaping into photographs taken of the universe, painted-in blues and warm bursts add dimension. I get so calm I almost fall asleep and a moment of divine serenity beckons my finger to my nose. I am here to excavate and contemplate myself outside myself and under the bluer light of god. The man levitating in the middle of this alter doesn’t look like Christ at all. Outside, stone circles on the ground wear light and shadow like unfinished sundials. Now they are wearing my feet and for a moment I turn them into hands and do my part to help quantify the day.