Ruins

Regardless of where I started,

with the form or the meaning,

all was left undone, the done and the not done,

as in agitated, interrupted sleep.

Your name held unattainable heights

and dimly lit places where

timid animals hid not showing up till dark

and perhaps I should have started there.

Now it’s too late, nothing but ruins

of what might have been;

I’ll build over them my Church

like one returning to a house at the close of day.