Cologne Cathedral Poem by Leslie Philibert

The moon falling next to the Rhein;
a black stone burnt and chipped

as black as the night`s eye
as dark as midnight`s coffee
as hard as the last touch
as strict as a monk`s hand
as quartz as a buried knife
as burnt as a warrior`s brooch.

This bird gasps and loses feathers;
sick with a stomach full of stones
and a thousand years; two fingers pointing at heaven

a block kneeling to water
a prayer caught under a hammer
a pale boy hanging on a wall.

All ready to launch; to be pushed into the brown flood,
over holy mud and under the ochre of early evening.

Cold and quiet; let it take to water.