6 Grace church, Yorktown
Still, colored shadows. It is not
The building that is still, but we
Who stand at twilight by the red-
Stained walls, eroded to curves,
Yet changed by the same hands
That laboriously cut and
Shaped uneven rectangles of
Marl, the leavings of unthinking
Creatures, accumulated through
The passage, heat, pressure of years.
Shells, once articulate, bivalve
Dissolving to blunt rock, made the walls
Sufficient to have stayed, but we have
Not the faith to keep them as they
Were placed, through the fallow years
The yard destroyed as the walls.
Blocks, though brown, are red in the
Light of certain sun, like us who pass.