Love Among Ruin
"The more stubbornly it persisted, the more fiercely we believed." Louise Gluck
Among quiet mausoleums, still lovers
are caught leaning forward to kiss.
The man's stone hands lovingly cup
the graceful oval of his wife's marble face.
He caresses her cheekbones, enthralled
despite the closed door of death.
She stares adoringly into his blind eyes,
a monument of frozen constancy.
I am a curious tourist, pausing to
wistfully ponder their eternal embrace.
Beloved, heal the wounds
you have inflicted. Remember,
I was the one who refused to lie,
rejected wedlock for freedom.
Destroyed myself at your command,
changed open doors for sealed convent
simply to prove you the sole possessor
of my heart, soul, and will.
You who lavish time
on proud disbelievers,
consider your growing debt
to the neglected faithful.
My broken spirit is a weak plantation
sown with tender, ailing plants
that require nourishing sun,
your careful attention.
Treachery robbed me of myself
in robbing me of you.
I fear nothing more than barren silence,
this claustrophobic sentence I am now serving.
Only letters provide a lingering hint
of your long-absent presence,
vague words that still caress,
despite the malice of others.
Notre Dame Symphony
Inside a husk of stone, voices
of the martyred rattle like seeds.
Gargoyles snatch passing souls.
Gothic spires erupt from colorless slate.
Medieval clerics shattered intricate
stained glass, always hungry for light.
In the courtyard, a man raises one arm,
blesses tourists, conducts his own mass.
A symphony of tiny sparrows lift,flutter skyward bearing sinners’ requests.
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