1.26.15

Romanus

Your designer made you gargoyle.
Gave you a spout to convey water.
Your open mouth slows the progress of erosion,
rainwater. The length of your body determines
the fall of the water my hair is tangled up with,
in this whirled ceiling fan, perfect sundress
weather, for hiding my iron gullet in. 

I implore you to feel this as I do, under the
carved out church, gentling, and warm, and
besides ourselves, shoulder to shoulder.

Warmth as if from a dragon breathing
somewhere nearby hits us. His breath allows
one prisoner free, in accord with
the annual street procession of St. Romain.