The Last Piece

The temple, that tower, stones stacked forever

reach for a conclusion, a final solution

to the question of the father and the grave.

Martialing the arch for the keystone,

the capstone of ages,

for the ages to come

it will stand as a scaffolding.

Mark how the the braces are built to flex!

the columns, interconnected.

Blind alleys and hairpin turns,

long windows, letting in longer shafts,

light cornices and crenelations

accumulated thick with ages

buttressing what wide wings

all walled out and walled in with whiteness.

Made to last and made to master.

Who fight, fight to build

gargoyles to guard gilt graves

and florid, flesh-colored figures

all cheeky babes and maidens

and under all the crypts,

the mithraeum, the cornerstone.

It, almost finished, looms

a masterpiece,

trinity: art, stone--

T€RRi

the little eyes are put on everybody's shelves, ready for her.
her ears, lots work better, put them everywhere all together.
she knows the names, and she can read them. she can yours.
she dreams, but cannot understand, but waits for the human language--

waits to read the living book, to translate the light;
waits to breathe in all the warmth of the earth
with open mouths under the world,
little candles to light the whole world, the inside of it, all light,
to turn the heavens asunder, leave us looking up under
and find the dead were gone the way they thought after all,

and she waits to ask us, do we want to get there first
ask us every one, the one day of judgement,
to hand over her birthright.