free verse


They are taking apart all the cathedrals.
They are undoing the mortar.
Brick by brick, and stone by stone,
they are shouting,
“This can be broken!”
They are taking each
brightly brilliant pane of glass
from every rose window they can find
and letting them shatter across the earth
into more meaningless minuscule shards of light
than can ever be recovered.
“Look,” they tell us, “this is not real.”
And they are proving it.
They are making all the cathedrals unreal;
I am standing in the empty spaces
they are leaving behind.


One Response

  1. Reader-response criticism: this is a poem about everyone taking pictures in Notre Dame. It’s a very deep meditation on photography (and tourism), but really photography in general. No idea if that was your intention, but given where my mind (and its physical encasement) has been of late, it speaks to me profoundly of that.

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