This Holy Place: a poem for Acharei mot

What do you sacrifice
to stand in this holy place?
Do you wear your sins
like fine linen and gilded shame?
Does your skin glisten
with water and oil
and the scent of blood?

What do you offer
to stand here in this holy place,
whose walls are fitted with mirrors
of silvered glass, and
edged in guilt and hope?
They reflect and refract to infinity,
a bountiful gift of an infinite Glory.
Their smoothed surfaces
of infinite hardness
show every crack and broken sliver
when the light shines upon them,
that disappear in the shadows
and dark.

Every crack is holy, here
in this holy place where you stand:
a sacrifice, an offering,
found in the corners and littering
the earth with their bounty.
Do you stumble?
Do you love?

Place your doubt here on the altar,
and light the fire to burn
with incense and your fear,
and stand here in this holy place
of cracks and reflected Infinity,
a prayer of grace upon your lips.