Sonnet #295

The trail I ran went under highways, so

I heard the echo of the cars and saw the pillars there

So like cathedrals, these hidden palaces, bare

Of all but holiest of things, stripped back to

Just the drainage water, the algae in the water

The desiccated wrecks of trash and clothes and blown in things

That echo back to life’s use, ghostly things

For ghostly places, where lost priests wander

The stripped back essence of all holy art

I am here, desperately here, this spray paint spectacle

The way the columns hold the sky apart

Where the muscles of the world, the ventricles

Flow so fast, and in those shadows hearts

Echo, lost souls, lost souls, angels of drained potentials