8-26-10

the senselessness of half a dozen paces
the holding cell of sacred places
footsteps placed as dipped in flour
cathedrals soiled by the hour
bells toll at random again and again
the lion calls within the den
volcanic fire sputters over ice
ash spewn forth like a spice
crystals glisten within sealed caverns
wine touches lips within sought taverns
salvation comes within a wooden cart
imprinting designs upon canvas as we depart


R.