Behind
closed eyes
In
the tender passion
of a dream,
I
behold
the
breathing beauty
of stone bodies
fleshing
the walls of temples,
Gods wearing
bodies
of painted stone,
worshipped
by men
... men?
Or
Gods in flesh,
with
forgotten memories?
For,
who can tell
the
difference, between
God
and man and stone?
Carve
the iconoclast’s face in a rock,
And
the passing years
make
him a God,
And
who knows
If
the prisoner’s stripes
are
not holier
than
the sage’s saffron?
I
worship all
I
blaspheme all.
- hk
