At Botolphs Poem by Denise Antoni
At Botolphs
A flat green tide neaps at the footstones,
Stranding this church on a secret shore.
The sea stood down from the steeping of bones.
Trees fish the sky; anchored biremes
Harboured the young blades that raised this door,
Blood emblazoned with alien dreams.
The granaries and amphorae lie shattered.
New bread and wine confounds.
Gilded caesars lie scattered,
Loose change in the grounds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 6:30:20 AM # 1.0.0.1119
