Saturday, December 18, 2010

St. Gatianus of Tours

(a found/erasure poem)

sprung from the grottos

in the cliff,

a winding staircase

in the latest taste.

explore its recesses.

sacred niches of rock

will give you an impression

if you cannot do without one.

They have been dealt with

as the Catholic church deals

with most of such places today;

polished and furnished up;

labelled and ticketed,

edited, with notes like an old book.

The afternoon was lovely,

and it was flushing to a close.

The large garden stretched,

blooming with fruit and wine

and succulent vegetables,

and beyond it flowed the shining river.

The air was still, the shadows

were full of memories,

most of which might pass for virtuous

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