With the sacraments of

A sculptor I tool words

From a world of marble and

Glazed thread

I am vellum framed

Become Vapor and Light

Like clouds that

Reflect the umber

Of the sun suspended

To columns of a fate

Never revealed before the

Captured heartache of

Love’s guarded satiety –

To the crosswinds of discord I

Leave a wake of tears awash on

The stentorian shores of my calling

 As if I am the channel proclaiming, speak

 As if reading from the Vulgate verses

Rain sonnets of prayer to bear upon the

Sunset of a deified horizon

Like oasis of time thrown to the

Rhythm of clear veneration I do not,

Cannot stop sculpting words

On this evening of gray.

© K. James Ribble