Only the taste of travertine fingertips
Could tempt a cloistered cirrus cloud
To denounce its temple of transience
And proclaim to find piety at the fictile feet
Of a porous pebble palisade
Solely a sinew of sensuous stone
Could coax a cumulus from its contempt of crystalline contemplation at the cupola of the cosmos
To condensate in concupiscent consecration to a carnal calcite chapel;
To take communion in the carceral composure of a constant,
Exalt the eroded edges of an enduring earthen edifice,
And exchange its hazy, humid heresy
For harmony with hallowed hands of holy hematite
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