An American Face


It is not mine to ponder the soul of another
But the face carved in stone
doesn’t flex as one turned from clay

The contours of purity inter,
Desires from display
expose the hardened soul to wear away

It is not mine to probe the mind of another
But the faced carved in stone
doesn’t flex as one turned from clay

The shadows of conviction cloister,
Vanities to betray
postures of the obsessed mind to virtue’s sway

It is not mine to doubt will of another
But the face carved in stone
doesn’t flex as one turned from clay

The ridges of dominance counter,
Fears that play
silently violent on the haunted will to allay

ROMA, 12 10 1998