Pages

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Photograph

Ruins of a Cistercian abbey.
Summer's heat greens
the cloister-wreck.

A low stone wall
out of Frost's blank verse
winds beside a stooped elm.

Grass, moss, ivy
(heedless, creedless)
claim these saint-acres,

this ghost-church
whose time-bitten archway's
ablaze with strong low sun.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Something Else

I cherish the sparrow in a world of traffic. I applaud cloisters and quiet wisdom. I prize the frail light of six in the morning. I...