By: Paul Kloppenborg (For Linda Caldwell) Granite giants mossed by age, renewed daily by rain or wind. There is movement; foliage from mouth The pealing of bells through gray rock. A twisting column snarls up(wards) to eternity, The severed heads buttress buildings, Drool chiseled hymns at me below There is a cathedral safe in sunlight where Deeply drilled pupils wince at my prayer. Beneath protruding tongues, the flared nostrils, Sin was spat at all who entered I chose to kneel in silence. Now passing through life's understanding, My thoughts under their long shadow |