Feet Of Clay Poem by Denis Mair

(for James Koehnline's artwork titled 'Forever Stamp)
... ... ... ... ...
In the desert, plants do not swallow up a monument,

they only embellish its slow crumbling.

When facing trials, I used to embrace a goddess' feet.

Someone's idol must have had feet of clay;

perhaps they broke away while being roughly loaded.

An astronomical dial made fit decor for her niche;

it was fanciful to dignify the goings on in bed this way.

Was the niche repurposed after her removal?

Was it a place to rest from computations of orbits?

Or did an angel-in-flesh appear after her statue crumbled?

The space breathes a sense of once-having- been.

An azimuth dial was flung away by a relentless wheel.

Whatever hands made this corner were obsessed with stars.

Whatever hands left it abandoned were blind.