French Cathedral Ennui

Kneeling, I feel the sun come through my high
windows, long shadows fall around my feet.

I rub my face on the sky, trying to wake up
or find comfort in some old worry.

Fallen angels peel off my walls like flecks
of dead skin.

If I could slowly melt away—a dune
flattened by the wind—stop like a clock
whose parts had worn out, end like a song dying
in the throat of its singer.

Hands keep shoring me up against the rising
tide of some old fear.

I want to bolt my doors and keep them out.

My back aches from the infernal dampness
of this region and five hundred years
of arched meditation.

My God—to stretch out on this rocky ground.

Fear of life keeps my head pointed upward,
the heaven of a stony design on my face.