Living cells call out their auguries,
Mighty spires reach for skies
That live but evenings and expire
Forever, so they say. Turn, then, to cosmic Valkyries,
To ornate stone formations possibly deliberate.
Where once they housed a knight or temple
Built by want and ignorance of what is simple,
Worshipped in the multitudes, immediate
To some, an intimacy of bodies petrified
And sprung from some light’s supple
Night that had a need for nuptials ―
She, the humble goddess; he, the gifted priest. Sanctified,
They possessed the night and launched a thousand ships
To consummate an age in their embrace with hubris on the lips.