Black steeples erect themselves
above quiet discrete roads,
lives tangled below in constant abode
- points that attempt to pierce clouds
not so much as set adrift as stirring.
Pottery pieces sit on walls collecting dust.
Memories collate in the minds of older ones,
while fragile hands hold younger dreams.
An archway is cut like two lime swords
guarding heaven. A beetle enters and
then a beetle leaves. Mankind amidst
the eternal phase.
|
|