Near the road an earth-kiln was
the product of a deeper yearning
than that of flesh which labored it.
Each one put upon his hand the
holiness of clay, more pure than
nightjar’s calls across repointed
furnishing that now remain, where
a road crests among the furrows.
The looming square of transept
and crossing at an angle mark
more firm along the coming dark
the certitudes of simple faith.
So they loved who were the body
of a surer time of soul, who
knew corruption in its forms more
quietly than we imagine
flesh decays and swells to light. Yet
the mind was stronger and the wall
elected with a calmer hand
than we who name it can invent.